The Wall
by the7joker7
Summary: What if you spend your entire life feeling sorry for yourself? Matt did. And now, he knows. He will tell his story now, for the entire world to hear. The Wall. The Music. The Madness. The Movie. Now The Fanfiction.
1. In the Flesh?

The Wall

What if you spend your entire life feeling sorry for yourself? Matt did. And now, he knows. He will tell his story now, for the entire world to hear. The Wall. The Music. The Madness. The Movie. Now The Fanfiction.

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This Fanfiction is another 'crossover' of sorts, based off both Pink Floyd's Album "The Wall" and the movie "The Wall." Credit to all those involved in those two creations. I'll deviate here and there, but it should stay relatively true. Anyone who reads this, please review, I'll be more likely to finish.

Yes, it's a songfic, sort of, though little focus is actually on the lyrics, so take it for what you will.

Yes, some continuity errors, don't take it too seriously.

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Chapter 1: In the Flesh?

_"-we came in?"_

He glared down at the back of his hand, as if he had never seen it before. In fact, it wouldn't terribly surprise him if he hadn't. Everything seemed brand new and foreign all of a sudden. The world was different now. So very different.

He reached up and ran his sweaty, clammy palm over his head, assuming he would run it through a long tostled mane of blonde hair...but no. He was bald. When had that happened? He remembered he had great hair once...and then...then what?

Had he really shaved it? Or had it been someone else? Maybe it was an accident? A drunken bet? Extortion?

No, wait. He had done this of his own accord. He ran his hand all the way back to make sure it was all gone. Not a follicle left. What madness could have driven him to do such a thing?

His other hand came up to feel his torso, grasp at his clothing. Very tight, almost nothing to grab. He glanced down at it. Jet black, sans an emblem over his right breast. Two hammers, red handles and cold steel heads, forming an X. He grabbed the raised stitching of the patch and pulled, but it was stuck tight.

He glanced down at the floor around him. Small gray tiles. He saw two dark brown gloves splayed on either side of him. They looked about his size. He looked at his lower body to find tight pants of the same color of his shirt, and black boots as well.

He looked around, the picture being painted a most unpleasant one. Big tan walls surrounded him, with large gaps at the floor and the ceiling. There was a steel latch on the wall directly in front of him, crossing over a gap between boards.

He pushed himself up, the effort immense. As his head turned around as he got to his feet, his eyes fell on a bowl of pure white, with a tank of pure white behind it, the only off-color thing on it a steel lever. He reached up, trying to grab the wall to his right to steady himself, but instead ripped a chunk of it out and fell back to the tiles hard.

His eyes fell on the object in his hand, a toilet paper roll and the device which held it in place against the wall. He chucked it against the opposite wall and pushed himself up again.

He was in a public restroom. At least he knew that much. His mind began to work backwards, memories of everything flooding back in a painful wave.

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They threw themselves against the steel gates at odd intervals, a mad, desparate attempt to get inside. The crisscross metal clanked and groaned as each new body threw itself against it, but did not give.

Those who had too much respect for their bodies to throw themselves against a gate were screaming at the top of their lungs, setting everything around them on fire, even each other, or attempting to climb the walls. There had to be some way in.

Just inside the barrier stood David Moore, bass player in The Teenage Wolves, who was watching the madness from the safety of within the concert hall. He too wore the jet black attire that the band had become known for, although his rough features looked much more natural bald. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, screamed at him, demanding he open the gates. They said they'd kill themselves if he didn't. They'd kill others. They'd light the whole town on fire. They'd rape every girl, rob every store, kidnap every child, whatever threats came to mind. David, however, was adamant.

"Go home! There will be no show! Go home! Your tickets will be refunded! Leave!" He screamed back, knowing only the lucky few at the front would hear him.

"Matt doesn't cancel! What have you done with him?" One bearded teen responded back, gripping the steel bars in his hands so hard they were turning white.

"He was found unconscious in the bathroom just a minute ago, he's being taken to the hospital now! There will be no show! Go home!"

"You're lying!" Came the cry from several at the front, as they renewed their efforts to break in. They began to stab at the bars, rip at the hinges, and tug on the padlock. Several began ripping off their shirts, lighting them on fire, and casting them through the bars, in firey tribute to what would happen to David if they got in.

"Well, if you won't fucking believe the security guards, and you won't fucking believe me, who will you believe?" But any hint of civilized conversation had already melted.

He retreated back down the tunnel, into the bowels of the hall, grabbing a silver, sleek two-way radio from his belt, holding the button along the left side of it down, and began to speak into it.

"They're going fucking crazy down there. And I only saw one gate, they must be like that everywhere. All we need is one person to bring a blowtorch or something and we're fucked. Get Matt out through the underground path."

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Robert, the drummer, supporting Matt on his shoulder, led him out of the stall where he had been laying a moment ago. He was the only member of the band who had kept his red hair, declaring it a part of his being when asked to shave it. Seeing as that he had a small smattering of freckles around his nose, he would have looked very odd ball anyway. "Buddy, you alright? You just hold on, we'll get you right to-"

"Oh, Robert. Why the fuck I do that?" Matt said suddenly, just loud enough for Robert to hear. "Robert, we fucked up. I fucked up."

"Matt, don't blame this on yourself! We all-we all have times like this! Oh, what rock star _hasn't _collapsed in a bathroom, am I right, Bob?" He quickly motioned with his finger towards the guitarist, watching from his perch on the sink ledge.

"Oh...oh-yeah, all rock stars have these moments! It comes with the territory. Go to the hospital, spend the night, pop a few wonder pills, it'll all be tickity boo, I promise!" Bob was british, with a round face and a glare that could bore holes in diamonds. He always was tugging at the outfits, complaining about them. Except now. There was too much going on.

"No...no guys. I fucked up. No excuses. I-I don't know if I can go on anymore." He slouched against the sink ledge, his head dipping into one of the sink bowls.

Bob and Robert exchanged glances. This wasn't like Matt at all. "Look, we've got to get out of here now-"

The door to the bathroom crashed against the wall, an irate manager standing in the threshold.

"What is the meaning of this?!" He yelled, stomping into the room, stopping inches before Robert. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Matt's sick. There's no show," he said firmly. "Go tell them, maybe they'll listen to you." He turned back to Matt.

"Sick? Sick? No, I don't think so!" He pushed Robert roughly out of the way and walked up to Matt, his 5 o'clock shadow nearly poking Matt's face as he examined him. "He doesn't look sick to me! Going soft, boy? Can't perform because you stubbed your toe now?" He backed off and slapped him powerfully on the face. "You've got ten minutes to get out there!"

"Duane?" Bob stepped right in front of him as he turned to leave. "It's over. You got it? Over. Matt's not well, he's not performing. End of story."

"End of story indeed!" He roared. "If you're not out there in ten minutes, those lunatics will tear this fucking place apart! And I'll hold all of you-" he swirled his finger around above his head, to indicate the band "-responsible! You'll never perform again! You'll be flipping burgers for years just to pay me back!" He shoved Bob to the side and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, shaking the entire room and sending a MP3 player on one of the benches to the floor.

"Matt, ignore him, he's just talking out of his ass, let's get out of here-" Robert began.

"No." Matt shook his head slowly, flipping himself over and pushing himself onto the ledge. "No. We're on in ten minutes. You heard the man."

The radio on the floor buzzed to life again. "We've got blowtorches, gentlemen. Dozens of em."

Matt got to his feet, boots settling on the tiles. He rubbed his eyes, trying to find the strength to back up his words. "We've got no choice. Ten minutes." He began to stumble towards the door.

"Yes, we've got a choice! Duane's just an idiot, you've got millions of crazed fans all around the world who worship the ground you walk on! Hell, they're about to tear about a multi million dollar concert hall just because you didn't show up! You'll always have fans! There will be another day!"

Matt turned back to Robert, slowly regaining his balance. "Rob, be honest with me now," he droned, the tune of a broken man. "Have you ever, once, during all of this...thought to question me?"

"Oh, Matt." Robert went up to him, grabbing his arms and holding them to his sides. "I-I did think some of the activities were strange, and perhaps we got a little crazy...but I knew you were a genius, so I always trusted you. Unwavering trust, I'm sure Bob and David would agree. That's what it always was. And here we are, millions of fans, richer than kings-"

Matt showed the smallest sliver of a smirk before pushing Robert away slowly. "That's the problem, isn't it?" He turned back to the door. "We're performing. No debates. Except..." he looked down at the floor. "Except...change of plans." He murmured.

Bob ran up next to him. "Do tell."

Matt sighed. "Follow my lead. Just trust me, like always. I've done a terrible, terrible wrong, and I won't leave this building until I begin to make it right."

"Follow your lead." Bob said slowly. "Matt, that's not direction, that's a cheap copout so you can take all the attention while we stand in the background looking stupid."

"Look." He looked up at the ceiling. "I don't even know what I'm going to do. I'm going to go out there and trust my instincts. I have alot to say, and can't even begin to figure out how I'm going to say it. We're all performers, now let's just go perform."

Robert sighed. "Fine, you win. Only you could collapse in a public lavatory and feel like singing right afterwards." He bent down and scooped up the radio. "David, get to the stage, and get ready to play the concert of your life."

"Yeah, I've been wanting to cut that dead weight Matt for a long time." Came the sarcastic reply. "I'm getting the fuck out of here."

Matt grabbed the radio. "I'm here and ready to rock, now get your ass to the stage. Just be prepared to follow my lead."

"...fine. You guys _better_ know what you're doing."

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All hell broke loose as the gates fell, one by one. They may as well have been dams holding back mighty rivers, given the force of the people as they charged down the concrete halls. Nobody could remember their seat number, nor did anyone care. It was all about getting somewhere where you could see and hear Matt. He would provide direction, give leadership, like he always did.

The guards had long since taken cover, hoping they wouldn't get ripped apart, knowing full well there was no stopping them now. Now all that could be hoped was the auditorium would be left intact, and that looked like a distant dream indeed.

With no regard for anyone or anything else, the hordes flocked to the closest seats, thoughts of food, water, comfort, or decent seats completely thrown out. If they could see the crisscross hammer flags hung in the air 50 feet above the stage and hear Matt's powerful, driven speeches and music, all was well.

After everyone had found their spot, all waiting in complete silence for the show to start, the lights dimmed. You could have heard a pin drop. Though it could have been a sonic boom for all it mattered, nobody would have cared.

Then, smoke began to emit from all around the stage, covering it in a hazy cloud, hiding the massive speakers and microphones. Then, laser lights began to dance all around the stadium, forming complex patterns, bobs, and weaves across everyone. Not a decibel of noise came from the crowd, however, for they had not yet seen what they wanted to see.

Finally, when it seemed as if the moment would never come, a few took up chanting.

"Hammerskin...Hammerskin...Hammerskin..."

It picked up in volume and mass. Entire sections and rows began to repeat the word over and over. The word which signified everything to them in this moment. All that mattered. Soon, everyone was chanting, hoping it would beckon Matt.

"Hammerskin...Hammerskin...Hammerskin..."

And then, a bright spotlight of pure white light, as if from heaven itself, shone down on the front center of the stage. There was Matt, hand held high in the air, other hand on his trademark red and black guitar, wearing the suit through which he became a great leader of people.

The crowd exploded. The volume created almost seemed to have a better chance of destroying the hall then rioting. But the structure held as the volume slowly died down.

"Congratulations. Everyone." Matt began. "I mean it. You're here. Somehow, through everything, you made it. Here to listen to me play my guitar and tell you all what to do."

More lights beamed down beside him to reveal David, Robert, and Bob, standing at the ready.

"You've been the best fans one could ever ask for. The very best. You've proved that over the past few years. And I am so thrilled you could be here."

_So ya, thought ya, might like to...go to the show._

He looked out on his audience, seemingly hypnotized by him. He knew they were having second thoughts as he spoke. He never opened concerts like this.

"But...there's been an unfortunate mistake. A terrible, horrible, mistake. Every last person in this stadium, every last one of you, have been terrible excuses for human beings for the last few years now."

Gasps. A change of heart from Matt Yamato? Impossible! 

"However...I take full blame for everything. Everything that's happened over the last few years...it's all on me. And...I'm sorry."

_To feel the warm thrill of confusion, that, space cadet glow_

"So very, very sorry. In fact, I'm am fully confident that thanks to all of this, I will never get to see the gates of heaven." He shrugged. "I...I fucked up. And I'm really, really sorry."

Bob, Robert, and David all exchanged glances. This was unexpected, but certainly welcome as far as they were concerned. Providing the audience didn't rip them all asunder for it.

"I don't know how I was allowed to do what I did...and if you all weren't such devoted fans I would have been dead by now. I thank you for that. But now, it's over. I want the entire world, that includes you, to see me for what I am. A disgrace to all of humanity."

More murmurs. What was this? Maybe they should just start lighting things on fire, that would make everything better.

_Tell me, is something eluding you sunshine? _

"Yes, I admit it. And we all need to, I think. I made a terrible, terrible mistake, and it's time I stopped leading the lemmings off the cliff with me."

_Is this not what you expected to see?_

"However...there's more!" He yelled as the crowd began to stir, indicated they'd either leave or riot. "I wanted you all to know that much...but...I want you all to know my side of the story. If you will all, please, give me some time, I will give you all a wonderful performance, and try to explain my unforgivable actions."

_If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes..._

"There's more to me than meets the eye. I am more than a stereotypical junkie rock and roller, if I do say so myself. It's time the entire world knew my story. I'm not trying to make excuses for myself...but you all should know."

Robert almost called the whole thing off right then. This wasn't storytime. But on the other hand...even he didn't know Matt's story. Maybe there was some method to his madness.

"Don't worry, there's...more to it than a story. Please, stay in your seats."

_you'll just have to claw your way through this disguise._

"Alright. My name is Matt Yamoto..."

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Oh, the terrible sounds of gunfire echoed over the battlefield, endlessly haunting anyone who dared poke their head out of cover. That bullet could be meant for them so easily. Any one of them. And there were so many!

From within a cement gray bunker, a man crotched, massive gatling gun in hand, pivoting around in his sweaty grip as he unleashed hell onto the beach below, hoping beyond hope to eventually hit an enemy...someone, anyone.

And then, the terrible screeching sound. He knew it. He had heard it. He knew what it was from. A diving, suicidal plane. It was close...too close...

He smelled the napalm just as the fiery piece of machinery crashed down hard onto the bunker, crushing it as if it was tissue paper. He felt the life being squeezed out of him, his brain having just the power left to bring the unfortunate thought to mind.

_"I never even got to hold Matt..."_


	2. The Thin Ice

Chapter 2: The Thin Ice

Oh my, so this is what the world is like! Truly, verily, it was worth all that trouble. Racing with millions of sperm, fighting each other and the natural defenses of the body to get to the womb! It wasn't easy. And then the long wait until the actual birth is excruciating! Sitting there for nine months, growing, growing, hearing noises outside your protective chamber. One day, it gets too small, though that day takes oh so long to arrive, and out you go.

_Momma loves her baby..._

From the moment I came out, it was heaven! They always said there would be a mother and father there, tending for you. Who is 'they'? My intuition, for it's all I have at this point. And it isn't much yet, I'll admit it, but humans have been around for a very, very, long time. Besides, I'm fairly sure I was transferred to another being before birth, it would make sense there are two people involved here. The pretty lady who seems so tired and happy must be the mother, and the guy who pulled me out in the white coat must be the father.

_And daddy loves you too._

Oh how they live for me! They must have waited their entire lives for this, for me to be born. There's always somebody right there, watching me, fascinated by everything I do. They talk alot. I'm not sure I understand what they're saying, but I'm sure it's about me. It has to be, it seems everything is about me now. This looks like the start of a wonderful, wonderful life! But don't take my word for it, let me show you.

_And the sea may look warm to you babe..._

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"Nothing too good for my boy." Nancy muttered, flashing yet another circular string of blocks at the child within her arms from behind her back. "Nothing at all." She held it in front of his eyes, watching the tiny, black eyes chase it around. "Yes, that's a good boy, Matt."

Oh how he cherished these hours where she would just hold him, hug him, play with him, touch him, tend to his every need. He couldn't think of anything he could possibly want more. Such a beautiful, nice lady.

"Momma's never gonna let you go. Never ever." She got up, lifting him up with her. "That's right. Never."

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They'd visit his dad every now and then, always at the same place, far away from where they lived. He always wore the same white coat, and they always sat in the same white room. Mom and dad would discuss things, things I couldn't understand. But they were about me. I just knew it. My mom and dad would get together for hours and talk about nothing but me.

"Well, Nancy, it's just that...socialization and independence are an important part of a child's development, and I'm merely suggesting that-"

"Nonsense." Replied his mother, coddling Matt even as they spoke.

The wiry, tall man sighed, looked to his right at a computer screen, and spoke again. "If you continue to...how shall I say...smother him...he could be emotionally damaged later in life, perhaps to an extreme-"

"Where'd you pull that from? Who ever heard of someone being loved to death?! I love Matt, he loves me, and there's nothing he loves more than being loved by me. I didn't come here for a lecture in parenting. Now, is he alright?"

The father wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Well...yes."

My parents will debate and debate on about me until they can both reach agreement. How wonderful it is to know that they'll think so carefully about everything that happens to me!

_And the sky may look blue..._

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She glanced out the window of the 3rd story apartment, then at her watch, then back outside. Something was going to happen. Something important. Matt watched from within his playpen, trying to see over the railing, even though he could see under it just as well. It was just a nice feeling to know you were getting tall enough to look over the railing now. Maybe one day he could climb over it.

"Come on...come on..." she said under her breath. Matt felt ignored. He never felt ignored, and he didn't much like it now that he felt it. He bent down, clumsily picking up a plastic set of large keys, and threw them out of the pen.

She saw this and came walking over, still glancing at the watch. She bent down to pick up the toy and placed it back into the pen, the keys flaying out in various directions as it hit the ground.

"Oh...honey. You can play by yourself for a little while, can't you? Look." She picked up the rattle in the pen and shook it. "See, if you-well, you know what it does, don't you!" She looked around, wrinkles settling in on her forehead. "Honey, if you be a good boy for a few hours and sit there by yourself, we'll go out tomorrow. Huh? How about that?"

Oh, if only I knew what she was saying. If only I could respond. I get the basic gist, that she can't give me attention right now. Even though I'm approaching a year and 4 months in this world, I can't say that has happened before.

Then, a loud clump at the door. Immediately, whatever small bit of attention she had for her son vanished as she ran up to the door and threw it open.

A man stepped in. His mom immediately threw her arms around his neck, locking lips fiercely, and wrapped her legs around his midsection. They tumbled into the room, falling on the couch, ripping each other's clothes off with an animal-like ferocity.

Matt was preparing to cry, but this strange action stopped him. He watched it, fascinated. They were having a wonderful time. Wrestling? Hugging? Rolling around? Who was this man?

Perhaps a second dad? It wasn't the dad he came to knew from that place they went to on occasion, but...perhaps he had a second father?

What a wonderful thing! How many children are lucky enough to have a second father? I must be truly blessed!

"Hey, Nancy...you know your kid's watching, right? I mean-" the man began, pointing out the playpen.

"Oh, who cares. Give it to me, big guy!"

_But ooooh Baby...Ooooh baby blue..._

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Matt was luckier than he ever knew. He was six now, learning the nuances of life, having learned the basics. He was going to school now, meeting some people, but his mother never stopped giving him all her love.

And it was more than that. He learned he had dozens of different fathers. They'd come to mom every so often and engage in the same fierce hugging ritual. Matt always watched. It was a sight to behold, almost a physical embodiment of her love.

Sometimes, she'd drink from a odd colored bottle of liquid, and in an instant would soften and appear to be much happier. What a wonderful potion it must have been. When she was troubled, she'd turn to it, and things would suddenly get better.

"Oh, Matt." Mother moaned as she drank deeply from the large bottle. "You're growing into such a beautiful boy." She put her hand over to the other side of the couch, where Matt sat, and ran her fingers through his air. "You're gonna be beautiful."

"Yeah." Matt replied, not quite sure how to elaborate. She did this every day. He loved it, but was running out of replies.

"I've got a nice man I want you to meet tonight. We've been seeing each other a few days now, and I like him, so be nice."

"Another daddy?" Matt inquired, his eyes widening with anticipation. The daddies always brought gifts for him. He had a closet filled with the various gifts the dad's had supplied him.

"Sure." She shrugged. "Another daddy." She gave the bottle a quick shake. "Wanna try?"

Matt reached out towards it, and she handed it over. Why not? She seemed to get so much happier when she drank from it, why should this be any different? He grabbed the small, oval shaped bottle, brought the neck to his lips, and tipped it up.

"This isn't your first time, ya know." His mother said as he drank. "I drank so much of that stuff when you were in here-" she pointed at her stomach "-i'll bet you were swimming in it."

_Oooooh babe..._

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"Oh, babe." His mother fawned over her son, stroking through his blonde hair, like she would do every day. 

"Mom, stop." He said quietly, trying to pull away. "Stop."

"What was that, honey?"

"I...I got some things I want to do. And, and we really don't have to do this anymore. I'm nine now."

"Oh, nonsense. You're never too old to hang out with your mother, are you? Whatever you want to do can wait a bit, can't it?"

"I...I guess." He sat back, defeated, submitting himself to whatever his mother felt like doing to his hair. This was getting old, fast.

_If you should go skating, On the thin ice of modern life..._

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"I'm merely suggesting that, if you don't let Matt go and do some things on his own, he's going to be...horribly scarred for the rest of his life, potentially." He didn't often use these kind of words with patients, but now wasn't a time for sugarcoating. Not with this insane mother.

"How could something as beautiful and pure as love scar someone for life, doctor?" She replied, sitting on the small bench against the wall as if it was a throne, the doctor an irrelevant peasant, asking for something she could easily do but sadistically refused.

"It's not love, Nancy, really." He glanced at Matt, lying back on the bench adjacent to the one Nancy sat on. "It's a matter of...he needs to go out and do things for himself. He's homeschooled, he never gets a chance to go out and make friends, whenever he leaves the house he never leaves your side...you've seen it. His human instinct is starting to take over. Even with all your sheltering, hasn't he shown signs of wanting to pull away from you? Inspite of all your attempts to weed it out of him, he's still trying to-"

"I haven't weeded anything out of him! I loved him, and that's just how things happened."

"You're avoiding the question, Nancy."

"Well...maybe. So what? I'm his mother, I get to make the decision on that. He can want all he wants, I'll decide what's best for him."

"But this isn't what's best for him." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I must insist, it's come time that you let him go."

"You can't tell me what to do. I hate to break it to you, but you're just a doctor. You've got no relation to this family, it's not your place."

"I'm considered a bit of an expert in this field. I'd highly recommend you at least send him to a normal school."

She licked her lips, looking down at the floor for a moment. "Well." She swallowed. "It so happens I'm planning on that. I'm going to be taking a job."

"Well..." he began to rock back and forth slowly, "that's good. That's a start."

Matt suddenly sat up, looking deeply at the doctor. "You're not my dad, are you?"

The doctor couldn't help but smile at this out-of-the-blue comment. "What?"

"You're not my dad."

"Oh, of course not! Nancy, what've you been telling the poor boy-"

He fell back on the bench with a thud, blocking out the conversation, feeling he had been torn emotionally asunder enough for one day.

_Dragging behind you the silent reproach...Of a million tear-stained eyes..._

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It was like those trainwrecks or carcrashes. It was terrible, horrible, you wanted to turn around and run and go somewhere where you could pretend it never happened. Yet your eyes were glued to it. You couldn't leave, even for a second, you might miss part of it.

Or maybe Matt just didn't care anymore. He had watched his wife get hammered by the bum of the month for so many years now, it was as normal as the green telephone base hung up on the wall by the kitchen or the blank fridge adjacent to it. It was too common a fixture in his mind now.

Of course, he was ten now, and coming into the stage where he began to really realize what was going on in front of his face. Sure, he had seen the action before, but never really understood the true underlying meaning.

Nancy suddenly pushed off the latest object of her fancies (or the other way around, who knew anymore), and rolled off the couch, saying something about wine. After pushing herself up, she strolled into the kitchen.

Matt took this opportunity to ask the man a couple of things. It was obvious by now his mother had been lying to him his entire life, so he had to ask someone else. Someone who didn't care enough about him to lie.

"You're not my dad either, are you?"

"Hell no!" He hissed. "No. I hate kids, goddammit. Hate em!"

"Then...what are you doing?"

"What's that?"

"What are you doing, here, with my mom?"

He glanced around, grinning slowly as he did. Almost as if he was slowly reverting to a hyena, after making sure they were alone. "Allow me to introduce you to the real world, kid. Your mom is a _slut_ who will sleep with anyone to satisfy her womanly needs. I'm just the guy she happened to find. I'm sure this couch has seen more men than it can count. I don't care. I'm just here for the ride, and so was anyone else you ever saw come through. Sorry buddy. Now beat it, you're fucking the mood up."

"But-"

"No buts, kid! I know how this works, wham, bam, thank you ma'am, never see him again! Your dad was either the unfortunate guy who used the cheap condom, got divorced, or is dead! Your brother down the hall, T.I., whatever the hell his name is, same for him! Given this whore's track record, it'd be a miracle if you two were of the same flesh and blood. But I don't really care, so get out!"

Matt was trying to come up with a worthwhile retort, but his mental foundation was already beginning to crumble. He managed a 'fuck you' before turning around and darting down the hallway. He heard the man's laugh follow him, taunting and tormenting him. Try though he might as he entered his room, no wooden door could protect him from it.

He slowly fell over onto his bed, trying to reformat his mind to account for this new information. But the very foundation of his head seemed to be embedded in this belief. He wouldn't be surprised if he failed to wake up the next time he went to sleep. He didn't have a father at all. He had pretend fathers who could care less about his well-being. All he had was a smothering, mentally off-balanced mother.

Before it had even started, his life was incomplete.

_Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice appears under your feet..._

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"Don't be ridiculous." She held the clear bottle, holding the yellow color liquid, out towards Matt, who had pushed himself against the armchair on the opposite side of the couch from his mother. "You've had it so many times before! Little late to suddenly drop right off, don't you think?"

"Mom, I...I don't want it anymore, alright? You...you drink it all, I don't care. It's all yours." He put his hands in his face. "Mom, I'm sorry, it's just...if I had ever known that it was-"

"Honey. Life is short, I just wanted to give you the chance to enjoy yourself is all. If I have to break a few rules, so be it. It's not like I was dealt a great hand." She glanced up at the ceiling for a moment.

"You should have remarried."

"Don't tell me what to do, it's none of your-"

"Well, I guess it is, given you clearly don't know how to parent!" He jumped up and stormed off in a huff, leaving his mother to shrug, think 'he doesn't really mean that' and go back to her precious bottle.

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"I'm sorry, T.K...you'll understand one day."

"But I wanna understand now." He moaned, clearly not enjoying seeing Matt wallow in self-pity on his bed.

"Alright, one shot. Everything I ever believed in, the entire foundation of my youth, has crumbled. Right is left, up is down, black is white. My life has been completely screwed up since the day I was born! And all this has just hit me in the last month!"

T.K. sort of stared blankly. "Well, that sucks."

"Yeah." Matt managed through gritted teeth. "Now beat it. I want to be with the people who understand this."

"But Matt...there's no one else in here but-"

"Yeah. I know. Go." He flung his hand in the direction of the door. T.K. complied, afraid he might get caught up in one of Matt's poems about his angst if he dared stay.

_You slip out of your depth and out of your mind...with your fear flowing out behind you...As you claw the thin ice._


	3. Another Brick In The Wall Part One

Chapter 3: Another Brick in The Wall, Part One

As if it was trying to support the weight of a thousand elephants, the ancient hinges of the trunk bitched and moaned as the top was pushed open.

No, it was not a question of weight, or even age. The trunk had been around only a few years, had been sparingly used, and had nothing but dust on it's surface. The trunk didn't want to open. Not for him, anyway.

Maybe if it was loud enough, he wouldn't continue to open it. He'd just leave and forget about it. That must be the cause of the abrasive noise. But it wouldn't win today. He had to know. Had to see what was behind this container of wood and metal.

Since that fateful month, when lies made way for truths, Matt simply had to know more. A sadistic cycle. He was happy when there were lies, but now that the truths were making him miserable, he could not stop until he knew all of them. To live in limbo like it was now, halfway between, was an existence that nobody could hope to lead.

His mother held no answers, not any he could trust further than he could throw, in any case. His nose wrinkled with frustration as he recalled his attempts to pry information from her.

_"You can stop protecting me alright, I'm ten years old, I think I can take the truth about my dad." Matt insisted impatiently, looking up at his mom, who sat curled on the couch, a magazine in hand. Life. Something she really needed._

_"What is it with the fascination about your dad suddenly? You've never even seen him."_

_"He's still my dad, now stop playin around. I need to know!"_

_She paused for a long moment. Matt couldn't tell if she was reading the magazine or thinking about her answer. "I don't know who your father is, and I don't care. Neither should you."_

_"You don't know? That's...not possible!"_

_"It sure is when you've slept with as many men as I have! There, your mom's a slut, you happy now? Your father is one of the hundreds of men who've taken a ride on the Nancy express, and there's no way to know who! Now stop asking and go!"_

He did go, but only in body. In spirit and mind, he knew she was lying. Well, he didn't know, but it was more a blind faith towards the fact that his mother had not always been like this. She couldn't be born with such a twisted and distorted mind. Something had happened in her life...something terrible that had destroyed her from the inside...and he was willing to bet that something was his birth father dying.

On the rare occasion he was able to go around the apartment without his mother breathing down his neck, he looked everywhere. He checked loose floorboards all around the house, examined every square inch of the closets, under beds, anywhere and everywhere he could think of. He had to bribe T.K. with candy to keep him from snitching, but he felt that if he could uncover the truth about his father, it was all worth it.

Two days ago, he happened across a key hidden in the heel of one of his mom's shoes. Things lined up, so he began sticking the key in every keyhole he could find, hoping his mom wouldn't notice the absence of the key. It was an odd key. It wouldn't even fit into any keyhole he could find. Too fat, you could tell just by looking. Finally, he found a padlock that would fit the key, attached to a trunk hidden in a wall cavity in his mom's room, blocked from view by a sliding door. His mom was engrossed in some soap opera at the moment, so he had at least half an hour to explore to his heart's content.

Once the initial cloud of dust dissapated, a bevvy of things were instantly visible within the trunk. His eyes fell on a small, black, leather bound book labeled 'precious memories'. He blew hard on the cover, sending another sheet of dust down into the trunk, and opened the front cover.

A photo album. The first picture contained a woman. His mother without the wrinkles or unstableness in her eyes. They were calm, even, smooth. They seemed to actually belong in the sockets where they sat. Perhaps those are what her eyes looked like before they were exposed to some terrible sight...like her loved one-

And there he was. She was lying down on what appeared to be a bed, her head nestled in the lap of a man. Her hand was over head, in the hand of the man. This had to be his father. This picture was not generated from a generic lust for animal-like sex. She actually seemed to...like this man. Enough to hold still for a few seconds to take a picture, something she hadn't extended to any man Matt had ever seen her with.

He flipped through a few more pages, seeing the same man with his mother. At least, the mother she was before she was a mother. The mother he would have wanted to have. Satisfied he had found what he wanted, he replaced the book carefully, only now noting the cover had a small footnote.

"Nancy and Malcom Yamoto."

So it was Malcom, then. He was getting closer.

His sight fell on a scroll of paper, bound with a small black ribbon in the center of the roll. He snatched it, ran his hand over the ribbon repeatedly until it popped off, and unfurled it.

Foreign words. They were english, sure, but he couldn't understand half of them. He could tell it was addressed to a 'Malcom Yamoto' from the 'Japan Ground Self-Defense Force', but from there he could only get a general gist.

"War...overseas...volunteer..." he mumbled, trying to piece it together. "Iraq...front...lines..."

And then, he had it. His dad had been a volunteer in the army, and had been called to duty in Iraq. It all fit, he knew of a great war that ended when he was just a few years old. The timeline seemed to fall into place, like a puzzle he'd rather not finish. From here, there was only one logical ending...

_Daddy's flown across the ocean...leaving just a memory...snapshot in the family album..._

He dropped the letter back into the trunk as if it was poisonous. But he couldn't stop now. He had to finish this now, he may never get a chance to again. He poked through some swiss army knifes, boxes of small golden pellets, and a uniform before happening on a second letter. Buried deep, right at the bottom. No ribbon on this one, just alot of crinkles and small tears.

He opened it up and attempted to make out the writing. Again, big words that he didn't get. Another puzzle he was compelled to solve.

"Sorry...regret...Malcom...kama...kami...kite?" Fun word to try and say five times fast. _Kama...kami...kaiser? Ah, skip that one._

"Let's see...plane, crash, dead." He froze on the last word, inspite of fully expecting it. There it was in black and white. His father had died at war, before he was even born. He never even had a father. Before he was even born, he was cursed to a half-life. This wasn't justice.

_Daddy...what else...did you leave for me..._

He threw the letter back in, shut the trunk with a massive thunk, shoved the key into the padlock and clicked it back into place, then began to push it back into the wall cavity. He'd burn it if part of his mind was hoping to avoid getting into trouble, against all odds.

His mind begin to turn, the gears of his intellect slowly churning out depression and reality.

"How could they? How could they send dad off to be killed? He had a son coming!" He said to himself as he shut the sliding door. "Great honor my butt...killed for nothing!"

He ran out of the room, trying to give the outward apperance of everything being normal, but inside he was still sinking into a state of hatred and depression.

"Why couldn't I have a dad like everyone else...everyone else got two parents...this can't be real...how could he just leave before I'm even born like that?" He whispered under his breath.

_Dad! What'd you leave behind for me?!_

He burst into his bedroom, jumped onto the bed, and curled up into a ball. "This entire world hated me before I even was born! If they hadn't sent him off to die, he'd be alive now, and mom would be alright, and I'd have a real childhood!" He pinched himself suddenly, hoping he was living a decade long dream. Of course, all he got for his trouble was a slightly smarting forearm.

This slight twinge wasn't the reason he started to cry.

"What...what did I ever do to have everything around me twisted?" He sobbed, hoping nobody could hear him.

_All in all it was just a brick in the wall..._

_All in all it was all just bricks in the wall..._


	4. The Happiest Days of our Lives

Chapter 4: The Happiest Days of Our Lives

The scar of knowing that he had earned a tainted life before he was even born would never, ever, in a thousand years, go away. But that was no reason to curl up in your bed all day and cry about it.

After all, this part of his life was just that. A part. And the next part of his life would soon be upon him. And nobody, not his mother, not the cruel god of fate who decided to deprive him of a parent, not anyone, could feasibly hope to stop it. In fact, it was his mother who initiated it.

A couple of years flew by, and Matt turned fourteen. Within his mind, he viewed his life as a seesaw that was slowing 'sawing' back after 'seeing' for fourteen years. Nancy had to get a real job, had to earn some money. It was inevitable. It was also becoming impossible for her to singlehandedly school Matt. Slowly, the side of the seesaw that commanded that his mother smother him would be pushed up by the deadening weight of monetary and educational issues. And he could not wait until that side of the seesaw grazed the grassy ground and set him free forever.

He already knew he was going straight to a high-class boarding school, finest in Japan, thanks to the admittedly wise finanical planning of his mother. Summer was fast drawing to a close in the summer of 2018, and he awaited the reluctant orders from his mother as if christmas was about to come four months early. He could smell it. Like the expensive cheese she kept buying, then letting sit until it went bad, she was letting the news sit inside her head until it was getting dangerously close to the due date. He could see it in her expression, melting into a mask of concern and fear.

And then, August 20th, it came. He emerged from the bathroom that morning, lightly tapping the door shut. He could feel it coming, and felt it best to treat the situation as if it was C4; delicately.

"We...need to talk." She said out of seemingly nowhere. Matt's head went on a swivel, for he had no idea she was right there. Sure enough, she was curled up on the couch, holding a piece of paper and wearing a expression of great fear. He knew it was coming, but he was still terrified of it. It was still within her power to...take this freedom away from him after all, in theory. Would she?

Absolutely.

"Sure." He said flatly, trying his best not to give away the fact that this conversation had been repeated in every way possible within the confines of the english language in his head.

"Well...you're fourteen now...fall's just around the corner, you know?" She pulled a blanket on the couch over her slowly, the tassels hanging off her like tiny sprouts out of her skin.

"Yeah..."

"There are things that I...as a responsible parent, need to do. For you."

_"Yeah, now let's go track down Mr. Peabody and put that into practice..."_ but he kept this thought process internal, and merely nodded.

"I've managed to get you into the finest school in all of Japan." She said weakly, brandishing the letter out towards Matt. "I've been planning this for a little while. It's a boarding school, but...I imagine we'll learn to live without each other. I'm so sorry, but you need this education if you want to-" she started to sniffle.

"Aww, mom, don't be like that. We'll be fine." Matt shook his hand dismissively. "It's boarding school. Not prison. Boarding school."

"Oh I know. It's just...you've never been away for more than two minutes, and now..." she put her hands into her face. "I'm sorry, if I thought I could, I'd get you into Okaba." She pointed at the window looking down at the street. Okaba was the local high school just down the street. "But it's just such a terrible school-"

"Mom, just...I'm alright, we can do this, I promise." His mind was already surfing among images of rooms that held a dozen boys his age, responsibile adult supervision, and some potential independence. His mom might have started wailing, fallen asleep, or eaten a whole box of donuts for all he could remember. He was already engaging in a riveting conversation with Johnnie Morton about baseball.

-------------------------------------------------

The air brakes of the train squealed into effect with much fanfare, halting the train which had been speeding along tracks for dozens of miles. Several of Matt's peers within the train, who hadn't been holding onto anything, rocked forwards as the force of friction pushed them. What a thousand bodybuilders would die trying to do, the simple substance everyone in the world would breathe to survive accomplished. To Matt, this was extraordinary.

But of course, everything was extraordinary to Matt right now. Hours before, he had left with two bags of school supplies, clothes, grooming equipment, and some special treats for the school that would be his home for nine months. He looked back at his mother, crying, waving from the train station stop, knowing he would no longer have to deal with her for at least another nine months. That had been a couple hours ago. Even now, it was still extraordinary.

The massive man with the tightly buttoned overcoat and the cane, who ordered everyone out of the train in single file lines, was also a sight to behold. Anything that wasn't his mother was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on. He could only imagine the things he had missed out on thanks to his mother.

And then, reality grounded him. "Come on, kid! Get a move on!" Matt dodged a cane poke, slid off the bench, and ducked under the massive man towards the door.

He ran out into the sunlight. It was beautiful. Well, it was actually pretty foreboding and creepy. Everything was dead. It was all man-made, very shiny and metallic. No plantlife anywhere. The building stretched far in both width and height, too far for him to make out where they ended from the entrance. It was all gray, everything was gray. It was boring to look at, and boring to imagine living in. But as Matt marched in a line through the entrance hall, it was still better than home.

----------------------------------------------

"Here at Scribes, we do things...differently than any elementary school you may have gone to in your life."

"Thank god." Matt said under his breath from the table for four, one of dozens set around the main hall that could have swallowed Matt's apartment complex whole if it wished. Each seat was taken up by a student, ranging from ages 14-19, hanging on to the short, balding man giving the speech. Matt couldn't help but be distracted by the face his face was stuck in a expression that made it look as if he constantly had something that smelled terribly right under his nose. Perhaps that something was the children. He seemed annoyed by them, as if dealing with them was beneath him, with his quick-paced speech and holier than thou tone.

"Ideally, you'll be spending nine months of the next five years living in our dormitories, eating our food, and learning from our teachers. I'm Headmaster Papelbon, so trust me when I say a large amount of money and trust has been given to us along with these duties. I must warn you; within these walls, we're allowed to do things they may not allow in the schools you've been to in the past. I'll ask all of you, once, to always follow orders given by any authorative figure in here and work your hardest in your classes. For the slow-witted ones out there, I'll make myself clear; we use the cane, ruler, and belt on violators. So it is in your best interest not to become one."

Matt was shocked out of his raw ecstasy of being out of his mother's reach by this last line. Nobody had said anything about corporal punishment! He had never been hit in his life! He began to push himself up, off the table, but immediately a powerful hand pushed him back down.

"Hold still until the Headmaster's done!" A voice hissed in his ear.

"I'm...I'm sorry, I think I'm in the wrong place-"

"Shut it!" And that was that. Matt didn't even turn around to size up his obstacle. He sat back down, defeated. Of course he wasn't in the 'wrong place'. This was the school his mother had been telling him for awhile now he'd be attending. Perhaps she was unaware, or simply didn't want to tell him...

No matter, he'd just stay out of trouble. CouIldn't be terribly hard. He tuned back into the headmaster's speech, intent now on being the best student he could be.

---------------------------------------------

"Now, when dealing with a right triangle's length, remember that A squared, plus B squared, will equal C squared, given that A represents..."

Matt had his chin planted in his palm, elbow on the desk, vaguely listening to the Algebra lecture. Vaguely might have been too generous a word, given his focus was on the pencil he had in his other hand and the discomfort of the school uniform. A gray undershirt, black vest, and black slacks. He almost fell to sleep just wearing it. And the shirt itched like crazy, it was like having the fires of Hades crawling all over you, all day.

He was tapping the pencil eraser against his desk in pattern, building a tune inside his head. Fast trio, offbeat quad...repeat three times, upbeat duo, long solo...it was coming along nicely. He had conviently converted the dull 7:45 Math class to his Music class after two weeks of finding it dull. The school taught nothing of that sort, and looked down on it. There was reading, writing (mechanics only), math, science, history, and some physical education. He felt his little 'session' during the math classes was all that kept him sane through all the textbooks and rigid uniform law.

"Lad, what do you think you're doing?" Before Matt could even snap himself out of his daydream, he felt the pencil being yanked from his hand. He glanced up in a panic to see his teacher standing right by him, holding the pencil. "Morse code? I can assure you you're very bad at it if so!" The small, rotund, hairy man leered before him, brandishing the pencil.

"Oh...I was just tapping a pencil...with...well..." Where could he go with that?

"No doubt more fascinating than what I have to say? Are you truly so simple minded that a simple sound pattern can hold your attention over math all children your age should know?" He looked around the classroom, checking to see that nobody bolted while he was pre-occupied. "I'm wondering, Matt...how would I go about finding the circumference of a circle?"

Matt thought hard. He had some vague recollection of them discussing this in a previous class, but he so seldomly paid attention. His only hope was that this was one of those trick questions.

"Well, I'd take a tape measure or...something, and then wrap it around the circle, and see how-"

He had half expected it, but still received a sharp jolt when the ruler slapped down on his knuckles. He jumped back in his seat, clutching his hands.

"So! Not only have you not been paying the least bit of attention in class, you seem to have developed an attitude! You're lucky I don't have time to deal with you right now." He hissed. "I think we'll have to see the headmaster for this one." He walked away. "Now! As I was saying..."

_When we grew up and went to school, there were certain teachers, who would hurt the children in any way they could..._

------------------------------------------------------------

Matt stumbled into his dorm, too annoyed to try and keep it down. Just as Murphy's Law would have it, his foot caught on some object someone left lying around, and he tripped. God must have really had it out for him tonight, the volume created from the crash was deafening.

"Nice, Matt. Real nice." Groaned Jon. "If you're going to get yourself in trouble, at least have the common courtesy to not drag us down with you."

"Well if people would just pick up their things, we wouldn't have a problem!" Matt shot back.

"What the hell time is it anyway?" Ben asked.

A short pause. "1:15. Are you really so stupid you need five hours of remedial math just to catch up on a few weeks?"

"Four and a half. And I'm not stupid. It's hard. Especially when the teacher hates you and is already assuming you're a troublemaker who's trying to plan a way to set his desk on fire."

"You've been doing this remedial stuff for two weeks now! With individual attention from one teacher you should be able to catch up in a matter of days!"

Matt slowly pushed himself up. "You'd think so, wouldn't ya? Now go to sleep." He jumped into his bed, too perturbed to take anything off, and tried to get to sleep himself. But he kept coming back to a fantasy involving him pummeling his teacher over the head with a hammer that kept him wide awake all night.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Hey." He heard someone hiss from a closeby desk. "Hey."

He didn't look up from his desk, on which was a piece of paper his pencil was dancing over. What he had to write was much more interesting than what anyone else in this school could have to say.

"Stop it!" The voice spat at him. "Can you pay attention?"

Matt finally looked up and turned to face the desk to his left. "What the hell do you care?"

"I don't need some idiot stumbling into bed at two A.M. because he has to take remedial classes because he's too dumb to pay attention in class! Now listen up!"

He returned his focus to what he was writing, paying no heed to the paranoid student. This was english class, what he was doing technically had some bearing in english. They were just too thickheaded to ever teach it!

He zoned in and out for about fifteen minutes, inbetween the lesson and the poem he was writing, before a ruler came down on his fingers. He pulled back, feeling his hand throb under the sharp and unexpected pain, grabbing it with his other hand.

"I might have thought as much!" He looked up. The teacher stood right there in front of him. "What's this? Second strike in as many months for the same offense!" He grabbed the piece of paper on Matt's desk.

"Well, technically, you might be able to call it the same offense, but...but really..." he melted under the teacher's glare, slowly halting his speech like a bad record.

"Oh! Poetry! I would have guessed one such as yourself would dawdle within such worthless things!" The entire class laughed.

He began to read what Matt had written outloud. "Breathe. Breathe in the Air. Don't be afraid to care. Leave, but don't leave me. Look around, choose your own ground. How long you'll live, How high you'll fly, the smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry. And all you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be." He looked around the room, prompting the kids to start laughing again.

"Sir, poetry is an element of the English language that-"

Another sharp rap of the ruler on his knuckles silenced him. "-is completely useless!" The teacher finished for him. "How could this-" he pointed down at the piece of paper "-ever be worth anything! In this classroom, we teach the mechanics of English, something that you can actually use in your life! I will not tolerate further rubbish of this nature in this classroom!" He crumpled it up and threw it across the room. "You can see me after class, and we'll find out just how long you've been wasting time."

_By pouring great derision upon anything we did...exposing every weakness, however hidden by the kids..._

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Matt had trouble sitting down for a week after that, wincing everytime he attempted. It was just beginning to recover enough for him to tolerate it, and he was testing out his newfound pain-free sitting on the edge of his bed.

"This isn't human." Matt mumbled, still looking down at his posterior as if it was prone to explode at any moment. "No human could condone this kind of treatment. We need to get some inspectors in here."

"Will you quit bitching, Matt? If you just paid attention-" Said someone across the room.

"Don't you get it?!" Matt blurted out, jumping up. "Look at what they're teaching us! The structure of the English Language, measurements of degrees, dates of great battles in the 5th century...there's no soul here!"

"Get off the soapbox. _Some _of us find these things interesting." Came a voice from a bunk up above.

"Interesting be damned! They're trying to...trying to kill us all!"

"Really? If I were them I would have just poisoned us all long ago if that's all they want."

"Kill us on the inside, you numskulls! The inside!" He pointed to his heart. "There's no...there's nothing in here. Where's the music classes? Creative writing? Philosphy? It's like they're turning us into robots!" He began to pace the room down the row that separated the two rows of beds fromeach other.

"Can you not rock the damn boat for once? It's not that bad if you're willing to accept it!"

"Willing to accept it? They're trying to crush out creativity and originality!" He ran up to the bed which held the possessor of the offending voice. "And when you lose that, you've got nothing! Nothing!"

"Shut the hell up in there!" Yelled someone from just outside the room.

Matt lowered his voice to a whisper. "You may as well be a soulless computer!" He went back to his bed, still talking quietly. "Any half decent teacher would be able to realize this...why are they so hateful?"

"You don't know?" Said Andrew, the kid who slept right next to him. "Like, really?"

"Well, he might have just been born that way-"

"Nope." A slight pause. "You didn't hear this from me..." Matt leaned in, barely able to make out what Andrew was saying. "But Professor Logan..." he broke out in a fit of giggles.

"Come on!"

"Alright. Well, his wife's into the whole BDSM thing..."

"No shit?"

"Oh yeah, big. Big sadist, it's almost sickening how people like that are allowed to live. Anyway, when Logan goes home at night...they play these...games." A pause. "Think hard now, should I go further?"

"Sure." He was supressing the image of Professor Logan in Leather Underwear with a Ball Gag.

"Sort of a Master/Slave thing they have going...she's the master...he's the slave...and he's not so...into it. But he does it...every damn night, because he's a whipped son of a bitch. Can't tell her no."

"You're shitting me." Matt whispered. "So-"

"Yup. He wakes up every morning, pissed off because playing the part of the slave hurts like hell. So he takes it out on us because he's too much of a pussy to stand up to his wife."

"This isn't right, we need to tell someone..."

"Like _hell._" Andrew interuptted. "If anyone ever finds out how I came across this information, and it spreads to Logan, he will kill me. I'm dead serious, he will track me down, and kill me. You know how embarrassing this is to him? If it's made public, and he even suspects a student did it, he'll gas this whole school."

"How...how did you find this out?"

A long pause. At least, it felt long. Several minutes long. "Fine. I installed a button cam on him one night to try and get an answer sheet. I got more than I bargained for."

"Damn man...what about Professor Collins?"

"His wife is a _bitch._ Like, if Martha Stewart and Satan had a baby, she'd be the baby. Apperantly, she's mentally unstable, but not enough to be committed. And Collins loves her so much...he puts up with her crap. Every day. She asks for Chop Suey during the winter, asks him to go dig a hole and bring it into the house, stupidest shit you've ever heard...and he's always frustrated, but can't stand up to her, so we get the force of his fury."

"Tell me more." Matt whispered.

_But through the town it was well known when they got home at night their fat and psychopathic wives would trash them within inches of their lives!_


	5. Another Brick In The Wall Part Two

Chapter 5: Another Brick in the Wall Part Two

Two invisible hands grasped Matt, one pushing him into the dreaded headmaster's office, the other wrenching his gut like a chunk of play-doh. Slowly, he pushed the massive wooden doors with the golden handles inward, the hinges giving way to a large office, complete with shelves of books replacing the walls, a desk that had long since sunken in quicksand disguised as paper, and a large window at the back of the room. It was very hard to make out the man behind the desk, thanks to the glare. It was as if you were going to talk with great oracle or god. The impression they'd no doubt want to give.

He silently marched forward across the tiled floors, trying to keep his face flat and devoid of any emotion. Show no weakness, it's the only way to win now, his friends had told him of the headmaster. He distinctly felt there was no way to win now, period, but it'd be hard to make this situation any _worse..._

"Sit down, Matt." Said the man behind the desk, motioning to the chair right before him. He walked up to the desk's edge and fell back into the small wooden chair, it's poor design digging into his back and causing alot of discomfort. He noticed the massive, cushioned chair of the headmaster.

"It appears we have a problem." Continued the monotone voice. "Now, I've been doing this long enough to suspect...certain, occasional, problems with every studen that passes through here. For the most part, these are dealt with by remedial classes, lashings, chores, and other such things."

"I would know." Matt said robotically, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, you would. But you're not here today for...your-" he looked down at something on his desk "-what was it...pencil tapping or poetry." He looked back at Matt, who was still trying to make out his features beyond the glare. "Do you know why you're here?"

Matt had a terrible feeling in his stomach that he did, but kept his mouth shut.

"You, my boy, are very different. I can't say I've ever had a student display these behaviors within these walls. The desire to waste time within useless, trifling subjects is common, but...well, I'll show you."

He reached to his left, slowly and majestically, grabbing a sheaf of just less than half a dozen large pieces of paper. He held them up to his face, blocking the starring contest between Matt and him. "At 12:15 this afternoon, these...paintings...were confiscated from under your bed." Matt's heart sunk like the titanic. It was as he feared. "I've known students to draw in their free time, but never like this."

Matt's mind, however, was already zeroing in on who to blame.

_We don't need no education..._

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_"What the hell is all this?" Larry asked, looking over Matt's shoulder at the large piece of paper Matt was applying colored ink to. It already had the brief outline, in pen, of a scene very hard to describe by anyone except the artist._

_"None of your business. You wouldn't like it anyway." Matt answered like an elderly man dismissing a child while paying the bills._

_"You don't know that, what is it?"_

_"It's a drawing, okay?! I am pouring all my hatred and anger onto a fourteen by seventeen piece of parchment! That alright?"_

_"Well, no shit it's a drawing, but what's it supposed to be?" Larry bent his head over Matt's back, trying to look at it closer. "Is that guy grabbing that guy's-"_

_"No! No!" He pushed his head back. "Your miniscule intellect could never grasp what's within this painting, now leave and go back to your...parts of speech or algebra or whatever else they're teaching!"_

_"Well fuck you too." Larry threw back, slowly walking away._

--------------------------------------------------

"This first one...well most of them, I'll need you to explain them for me." The headmaster continued, even as Matt imagined going back to his dormitory and crushing Larry's head with half a dozen different objects.

He held forth one of the pictures. It depicted a hallway of black and red, the two colors swirling about on the walls so it was nigh-impossible to explain exactly what the walls looked like with words. Against both walls, a straight line of students that extended further than the picture could express was depicted. The right line marched towards the viewpoint of the picture, the other away. They appeared to be in perfect unison, as if a well trained army of foot soldiers. All of the children wore a mask over their face, a very strange mask. It almost looked as if someone had gone up to each child, thrown up on their face, allowed the vomit to harden into a mask, then poked eye and mouth holes into them rather crudely. Every mask was the same as the last, and yet they were all different, as if poorly made. Lumps in different places, slightly different warps in the holes...minor differences that really didn't mean anything. Finally, near the other end of the hallway from the picture's vantage point, a larger man, dressed in black and holding a cane out in front of him, appeared to be violently yelling at the kids around him. The cane had a slight fade to it, as if he might have been moving it around quickly and threatening to hit someone with it. The picture was concluded by a small, neat title at the bottom. "Childhood's End."

_We don't need no thought control..._

"Well, Matt. Can you explain?" He asked after Matt had been given several seconds to gaze on it.

"What?"

"I believe I'm asking the questions here, Matt."

"You don't know?"

"I'm extremely worried I do know."

Matt couldn't believe how patient he was being with him, all things considered. "It's my representation of this hellhole they call a school, got it?"

"Well, now I'm just extremely worried." The headmaster responded, putting the large painting down by his side. "Could you perhaps...enlighten me on this one?" He held forth a second.

This one was a bit simpler. A group of teenagers, ranging from rich to poor, tall to short, fat to thin, beautiful to ugly, and everything inbetween, were lined up on the left side of the picture, apperantly in a slow march across the drawing. The middle part of the painting was completely taken up by a cold steel, gray chambers, the inside of which was completely blocked off from view thanks to the menacing metal that covered every inch of is sans an entrance and exit at either end. The children on the left were apperantly marching into the chamber. Another group of kids were depicted on the other side of the chamber, only they were sitting at schooldesks, a treadmill slowly moving them along the line. Each child wore another one of the deformed masks, and were completely indistinguishable from each other. This painting had a title as well at the bottom in black, plain print. "Welcome to the Machine."

_No dark sarcasm in the classroom..._

"I'm almost afraid to ask, Matt." The headmaster began as he pulled it down, eliminating the paper barrier betwen himself and the troubled student. "Does this...chamber...represent this esteemed high school as well?"

Matt looked to his right, trying to read some of the book spines from afar. "Maybe." He finally said after five seconds of tense silence.

More silence, for uncountable seconds. Matt felt like an acrobat walking on a tightrope. He might get out of this without getting his ass flayed off, but it seemed so improbable. The headmaster had already shown infinite more tolerance than he ever could have expected, but surely this next picture would-

"And now, Matt. Now this one...this one really disturbed me. Bothered me." He grabbed the next one in the short stack and held it up. "Maybe you can ease my troubled mind?"

A line of students, only three, though it probably stretched well off the painting itself, were lined up on a catwalk in the top left corner of the paper. The catwalk ended after only a few feet, but the students appeared to walk right off the edge as if it was normal. One student was shown falling through air, downwards into a large metal funnel. Thankfully, the inner workings of the machine the funnel fed into were left to the imagination, but the strange substance oozing out of a faucet at the bottom right hand corner of the barrel-like container make things fairly obvious. The chunky mess was being pumped onto a treadmill, which dumped it into a second machine. This small, narrow, box-like processor produced the same substance at the other end molded into a perfect brick, rolling down another treadmill. Finally, at the right side of the picture, a three-armed robot was constantly rotating, grabbing the bricks before they fell off the edge of the treadmill, then placing them onto the top of a partially finished wall made entirely of the bricks produced from this contraption. It looked like something out of the deepest recess of Tim Burton's mind. And, of course, a title. "Another Brick in the Wall."

_Teacher leave those kids alone..._

"Nevermind the...disturbing imagery, which I'm willing to ignore for the moment...what is it?"

"Hate to break it to ya." Matt said casually, wiping his cheek, gaining some confidence. "That gut reaction you had about it. Bingo." He spoke the last syllable with an O shape on his lips, emphasizing the fact that the headmaster had landed right on the bullseye he didn't want.

He tried to act as if none of this fazed him. It wasn't working well, his forehead now glistening and his face contorting into an expression that a heart attack victim might wear.

"Very well, Matt." He held up the fourth one. "Let's keep on going, now. Please tell me this isn't what I think."

It was a classroom, but not one you'd ever find within these walls. Books were lying all over the floor, clearly thrown about by someone with no regard for organization. The bookshelves, still half-filled with books, had been lit on fire. The desks were askew, some on fire, others being chopped to pieces by what appeared to be rebelling students. A few of the strange, distorted masks were on the ground, others in the air, one girl having clearly just ripped hers off before flinging it upwards. The uniforms were coming off to, the perfectly tailored black suits set on fire, slacks and skirts being torn to pieces, a few of the students not minding at all they were dressed only in their unmentionables. A section of the back wall of the classroom was coming down under the apperant pounding of sledgehammers from the other side. In the back corner, a boy and girl had stripped themselves completely naked, and as near as could be told the girl was giving fellatio to the boy. Right beside them, a boy was having anal sex with another boy. The very middle of the painting, however, was the most offsetting. Three students were holding a man, the man with the cane from the first picture, down to the ground. His expression of hatred was now mixed with one of fear as he looked up. A 4th child was holding an axe above his head, apperantly set to come down on the 'teacher's' neck with it on the downswing. The title? "A New Machine."

_Hey! Teacher! Leave those kids alone!_

Now, I'm going to...ignore the political incorrectness of his painting. We're both well aware that the mere mention of the slightest hint of the smallest suggestion of the actions in this painting are punishable by horsewhipping. Is this a graphic depiction of what you wish would happen in this school? The rebellion, destruction, illegal acts...and do you really wish the professors in this institution would be..." he made a general hand motion towards the middle of the painting before placing it face down on the desk.

"Okay. I'll level with ya. It's a blueprint. Happy now?"

Even if he was thrown into a dungeon and horsewhipped for the rest of his life, it may have been worth it just to see a face go from moderately pale to stop light red in a split second. Matt was shocked enough to find he had the balls to say what he had just said. He was more shocked that the teacher was actually takng him seriously.

"Blueprint, ya say?" He managed to sputter, shaking a bit now.

"No." Matt said flatly, unbelieving how idiotic this headmaster really was. "I wish, to be honest, but no."

The headmaster rubbed his eyes. "Well...good I think." He looked around frantically. "This...this one, well...you're going to have to explain this one." He held up the 5th and final one. "It doesn't appear to...well...can you just explain it?"

This one was much simpler. The bottom half of the drawing was completely covered by an unfinished brick wall. It had been drawn from the vantage point so as that, if the wall was finished, the entire painting would have consisted solely of the wall. Each brick had been engraved with tiny lettering. Matt scanned a few, even though he knew them all by heart. "Father died." "Mom gave me liquor." "Neighbor stole my gameboy." "Girl I like punched me when I tried to talk to her." "Mom didn't approve of new friend, forbid me to see him." It went on and on. On the top half of the picture, you could see Matt's head, his hand reaching up with another brick to place on the growing barrier. The name was the simplest, easiest to read into yet. "The Wall."

_All in all it's just another brick in the wall..._

"As mysterious as all these paintings are, this one...doesn't seem to fit."

Matt groaned, then slowly began to talk. "It doesn't relate. You couldn't ever understand."

"Well, I'll have to ask you to try me."

"Very well." He took a deep breath. "Think of the...room or area I'm in within the painting as...my mind. The viewpoint of the painting would be...the outside looking in. And The Wall...is, well, the mental barrier I'm setting up to block myself off. The bricks are made of the bad experiences that...forced the wall to be created."

A long pause, the headmaster holding the painting up before Matt. Then, he suddenly cast it to his side, letting it flutter to the ground, limited relief on his face.

"Oh, that's all, then. Now, we need to talk." He didn't even notice Matt look down, slightly disappointed that the last painting, which really meant the most, meant nothing to this idiotic man.

"I'm willing to forget these exist. In fact, I'm willing to burn them, and wipe your record clean. You can start all over, zero demerits!" He swept his hand around like a plane. "However, I need something from you."

Matt could hardly believe his ears, but managed a nod.

"Never draw again, never speak of drawing again, never speak of the subjects on which you drew again, pretend as if it never, ever, happened. Got it?"

Matt looked up, his eyes widening, frustration cast away. "Sorry. What?"

"You never bring any of this up, ever again, and we bury the hatchet. Clean slate!" He made another sweeping motion with his hand. "Start anew!"

Matt couldn't help but grin. This wasn't happening. This was a dream, a wonderful, extremely convulted dream. Or a massive joke. "Can you at least have the decency to not toy with me?" He sprouted up from the chair, turning around slowly so his back was facing the headmaster. "Just beat me already so we can get on with our lives."

"No!" He yelped. Matt spun around suddenly at this interjection of noise. "I'm dead serious, lad. You forget about all this-" he motioned towards the paintings "-and I forget about all this." He pointed at Matt's folder before him.

Matt walked right up to the desk, looking at the headmaster intently. "Are you feeling quite all right?"

"I'm in perfect health, child."

Suddenly, Matt grinned. "You're scared, aren't you? Scared of me."

"Rubbish! I'm...feeling generous." The headmaster glanced about, left to right.

"Wow. You're terrified. Mortified. I've gone and done it. I've stumped the headmaster!"

"Shut it, boy! This offer won't stick around forever!"

"Oh, but it well. It'll stick around until armageddon, because you're terrified." He leaned over, across the desk, playing with his position of power now. He had never, ever felt so alive in his entire life. "Oh, you've never seen someone like this before, have you?"

"What do I have to be scared of?! I do this for a living! I eat children like you for lunch!"

"You, my friend, have dealt with followers. I'm a leader, an innovator, a uniter of hatred and loathing and angst!" He pounded his fist on the desk. "If you weren't afraid of me, I'd be getting leather across my ass right now. But you're trying to bargain because you know what I can do."

"My generous mood is running dry." He said warningly, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"I can unite this whole school against you! You've seen it, the proof is within my artwork! I can have every student in this facility marching against you, burning your books, killing your staff, destroying your walls, laying waste to all the order that you have worked so hard to create!"

"Child, hold your tongue!" He finally shouted, pounding repeatedly on the desk with his fist. "Enough with this nonsense! Enough!" He leaned forward, so they practically met in the middle of the space above the desk. "Stop trying to fool yourself into believing you know something I don't. You are just a student, a student who's happened to found me in one of my good moods that he's pushing me out of at great spe-"

"Alright, glad we could do business." Matt pulled back, and stuck his hand out right in front of the headmaster's face. "I'm looking forward to starting on the clean slate."

The headmaster blinked several times, then pulled back himself. He wiped his face in a napkin before putting his hand forward. "Nobody can know." He whispered with venom. "This conversation, the details of this agreement...if it leaves this room, you will wish you were merely in trouble for drawing some disturbing paintings."

"No problem, I'll see you around." He spun on his heel and walked out like a content business tycoon after a million dollar deal, leaving an extremely confused headmaster in his wake.

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall..._

He strolled back towards his dormitory, high off his success. He had fended off punishment, struck a great deal, had nearly send the headmaster into cardiac arrest, and then pulled out just before things really exploded.

It almost made up for the fact that, inspite of a few minutes of fun, he was going back to a life of perpetual suffocating, endless feedings of knowledge without wisdom, and now he'd be more constricted than ever.

Almost.

_We don't need no education_

_We don't need no thought control_

_No dark sarcasm in the classroom_

_Teacher leave those kids alone_

_Hey! Teacher! Leave those kids alone_

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall_

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall_


	6. Mother

Chapter 6: Mother

_Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb?_

"Matt, for the love of god, stop it!" Dave yelled over his shoulder as Matt shoved a quarter into the payphone. "Are you fucking joking me? Are you listening to yourself?" He was gesculating his hands around wildly.

Slowly, he began the process of pushing a second one in, leaving the door open for Dave to continue his ranting, yet making his clear he intended to do this. "Summer's three months long, it's the least a young man can do to spend some of it with his mother."

"Matt, listen to yourself! Listen to what you've become!" Dave insisted, even as the second quarter fell through, seemingly now as lost as Matt's sensibility.

"A caring human being? God forfuckingbid."

"Matt. You saw your mother on christmas, during easter, thanksgiving, spring break, winter break, you call her every other day to tell her everything in your life!" 

Matt turned around suddenly, caught inbetween dialing the number. "She likes it, okay! And...I like it too."

Dave gave one of those mocking laughs, disbelieving. "Funny. I remember a Matt who insisted his mother was an 'overbearing, imbalanced, insufficient parent', or has something changed?"

Matt hesitated, before furiously hammering the last few numbers in. "That's just something people say, dammit! It's a conversation piece!"

_"_Why are you doing this to yourself? You could be free! You're a seventeen year old boy! The shackles your mother might have had on you before are _gone!_ Don't you see?"

"That's a _choice_ we make, David. If you'll excuse me..."

"Come on! Hang up the phone, come with us! You'll have the time of your life in Cancun, I swear it! We've got fake cards, money, everything!" He began to spin around on his toes, trying to find someway to get through to Matt. "You'll lose your virginity, go on your first bender, commit your first felony...you'll go there a boy, and walk out a man."

Matt turned his neck to face Dave. "I'd have to ask my mom anyway. And I won't be able to enjoy myself if I don't go see her first." He said stiffly.

Dave let his mouth hang open slightly for half a second, then leapt forward and hammered the lever on the phone booth down. Matt heard the beginning of a dial tone before the phone was knocked from his hand and his back was pressed to the side of the booth. Dave had stepped inside completely now, squeezing the two within the small chamber.

"Ask your mom? _Ask your mom?!"_

"You jackass!" Matt tried to push back, but Dave was much stronger and more experienced in these sort of situations, Matt having run from every fight thrown his way so far. Dave slammed him against the glass pane again.

"I am doing this for your own good. Do you honestly, _honestly_ think your mom would let you go? Here's a hint: **No.** This is one of those things you do on your own, for your own good!"

"Dave, get out of here!" He kicked out, finding Dave's gut with his foot, resulting in his release. "I...I can't, alright? Alright? Just...just go and have fun."

Dave shook his head, turned, and walked out of the booth. "I didn't wanna believe it. I did not, I swear, but you are the epitome of a momma's boy! One day the momma's boy's of the world will gather together and build a statue of you! You can't do anything by yourself! Anything! No matter how much you claim to hate your mother, you'll always turn to her to ask what kind of meat to put on your sandwich or what color pants to buy! Oh, that lady worked a number over on you!" With that, he stormed off.

Matt reached down and grabbed the receiver, putting it back to his ear. Quickly, he dialed the ten digit number to reach his precious mother.

_Mother do you think they'll like this song?_

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_Mother do you think they'll try to break my balls?_

"You know." Matt began, gesculating with his fork in his mother's direction. "Finals aren't so bad, but waiting for them to come really is the worst. I mean, the actual finals are easy, it's just...waiting, no matter how much you've studied, nothing can help the waiting."

"That's what they say. Nice to see my boy's doing so well." Nancy said quietly from across the table.

"Yes. Yes." He slowly picked up another heaping of steamed carrots.

"Are you alright, darling?"

"It's...just scary. After school got out, these...kids, they wanted me to go with them somewhere. It was scary...this world, it's scary. I'm living among these people that could care less about me, day in and day out, and...it's terrifying, that school. And then these kids want to take me to some...foreign country. Who knows what could be out there?"

"You're absolutely right. The world is a dangerous place. I'm always scared for you, inside that school." She glanced out the window. "It's something that has to be done, but...it was so much better when I was able to teach you everything."

"You're-you're right." Matt slowly nodded. "I'd give anything to go back to that." He recited off quickly. His mouth was just moving now, no thought coming into what he was saying, just instinct. His gut was speaking for him.

"I'd love to help you, but...well-"

"I understand mom. Completely. I hate it out there, you know. All those people, any one of them could be...a murderer, rapist...it's horrible. I can't walk by strangers without...it's terrible."

"I know just how you feel. I feel the same way."

His mind told him to speak out. Scold his mother for raising him like this. Yell at her for never teaching him how to make his own decisions. Scream at her for hammering the fear of everything strange into his head. But he could not, for he had nobody else to turn to when the fear and paranoia came back.

"So, mom...if it's alright, I'd like to stay here for the entire summer." He said, enunciated everything perfectly, going slowly. "We could spend some time together."

"Really, Matt? You'd like to do that?"

"Yes, I'd love to. I need to. Last summer was...I couldn't even leave the hotel room."

"Well, Matt, you're more than welcome to stay here as long as you'd like." She nodded happily.

_Mother should I build a wall?_

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_Mother should I run for president?_

Matt slowly flipped through the articles of the morning paper. "Suicide bombers...mass murders...it's just as you say, mom. It's hell out there. You're better off just...staying inside all the time, within your own small forum."

"Absolutely. We're so delicate, so why put ourselves out there? It's too big a risk, we're better off protecting our lives however we can."

Matt wanted to say something. To object, rip apart the years of mutilating his mom had done to his mind. But even if he said it, he wouldn't really believe it, and he needed someone to crawl back to when he felt weak. So he gently nodded and kept reading.

"Derek called while you were asleep. Offered to take you to the movies tonight at five."

"You don't say?" He flipped the page.

A long pause followed. "Well? You gonna go?"

"I dunno." He really wanted to say yes. Defy her, dare her to try and stop him...but the strangers he'd have to sit with, walk with...all he could picture was a suicide bomber sitting in the theater, setting himself off halfway through the movie, killing hundreds. "What do you think?"

"Weeeellllll...you know what, why don't we stay home and watch a movie? That's...well, almost as good, isn't it?"

"Sure." He went back to the paper, glad he could once again turn to the eternal wisdom of his mother. Why would anyone go to a movie theater anyway? You can just stay at home, makes perfect sense.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Came the voice of neverending reason from the kitchen.

"I dunno. What do you think?" He winced. He should at least be able to make this decision...it's such a simple one, it's his life...but...he put his hand up to his stomach. He'd hate to get overweight. He loved his body the way it was. Better let someone lay out his diet for him.

_Mother should I trust the government?_

-----------------------------------------------------------

_Mother will they put me in the firing line?_

"What's wrong with you? When you first got to the school, you kept preaching about how...how you were finally out from your mother's thumb, and could do what you wanted...and now you can't take two steps without asking her which way to go?"

Matt looked down at the sidewalk. "It...it wasn't what I expected. I need my mother. More than I ever knew. This world isn't a nice place, I need a guiding force in my life. There are just so many bad people out there-"

Reuben put his face in his hands, leaning heavily against the lamppost. "We all know there are bad people out there. We just learn to live with the fear, and not let it eat us up from the inside. What makes you different?"

"I-I dunno. I just don't like the sound of this trip, alright? America doesn't sound like my style."

"Style? What's that supposed to mean? The only thing that's your 'style', as you put it, is the inside of your mother's apartment. That's just _sad, _man."

"Hey, what's the big deal? I'm not telling you to not go. Go! See if I care." He turned to leave. "It's getting late, I'm out."

"Is there anything I can do to convince you?" He asked in a last ditch attempt.

"Yeah. Get my mother to sound off." He said sarcastically before heading across the deserted street.

"What's so great about California anyway? What's it got that Japan doesn't?" He muttered to nobody as he pushed the door to his complex open. "Take me halfway around the world...lunatics."

He continued coming up with random, usually poor, justifications of why he shouldn't leave this apartment until the last possible moment in fall until he was right before his door.

"Lunatics."

_Is it just a waste of time?_

--------------------------------------------------------

_Hush, my baby. baby, don't you cry._

_Momma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true._

_Momma's gonna put all of her fears into you._

_Momma's gonna keep you right here under her wing._

_She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing._

_Momma's gonna keep baby cozy and warm._

_Oooo babe._

_Oooo babe._

_Ooo babe, of course momma's gonna help build a wall._

--------------------------------------------------------

_Mother do you think she's good enough?_

"...I'm sorry, honey, what was that?"

"Well, we were just talking, the usual, our lives, our likes and dislikes...eating lobster...and then, she just asked. Popped the question."

"...then?"

"Well, I nearly launched a shrimp into a wine bucket across the room. Then...I said I needed to use the bathroom. So can you hurry up and give me some advice here? I need to be back in a few seconds."

"Well, Matt...good thing you called. Girls who ask for sex on the 5th date are bad news, if I'm being honest. Pity, she seemed like such a promising prospect...nice girl...but I guess she just couldn't resist. Well, honey, say you don't feel comfortable, and if she presses you, dump her on the spot."

"...mom, dump her? But, it's probably just an honest mistake, maybe a waiter spilt some beer in her lobster or something! Maybe it'll-"

"Do you want to become a walking STD? You'll know when the time is right, and I'm telling you the time is not right now! Look, go out there and give her a solid out. If she takes it, great, if she doesn't, you'll have to cut things short."

Matt sighed deeply, but knew he couldn't turn her advice away. "Alright, thanks." He slowly put the phone down on the lever and stepped out from the curtained booth.

He was instantly met by a hammerlike force across the cheek. It threw him to the ground in front of another of the same booths. He opened his eyes, and to his great dismay, saw a familiar female. There was no mistaking the red, strapless dress, stilletto pumps, strawberry lipstick, or flowing blonde hair. Sarah.

"You ass! You called your mother to ask if you could have sex?" She screamed, spreading her arms apart like wings on a plane.

"I'm seventeen! She has a right to know these things and have a say in them!"

"Oh! Oh! And you were gonna take her advice? You were gonna dump me? Is that it?! I knew I was getting in with a momma's boy, but shit! Matt, people don't tell their parents about sex, alright?! It's...it's not normal!"

"Communication with my mother is...very imp-" he began to push himself up, but the girl's foot came down on his chest, striking him back down.

"Well, you don't have to worry about dumping me anymore! It's over." She hissed before turning to leave.

Matt rubbed his chest where it was struck slowly, watching her hair disappear around the corner. "Aw, shit." He groaned as he pushed himself up. "You gotta be kidding me."

_For me?_

-------------------------------------------------------

_Mother do you think she's dangerous?_

"It's so...so nice...to have a son who respects authority." Nancy waxed, looking up at the ceiling from her sitting position on the couch.

"And it's nice to have a mom who's so intelligent." Matt replied back, his eyes focused on a copy of _The Catcher In The Rye _in front of him. "Most moms wouldn't be willing to help so much."

"You're right. It's just that...when your dad died I was worried. But you've been so...willing to take everything I pass on to you. I admit, after I found out, I subconsciously wanted a girl. But you've turned out better than I could have ever hoped."

"Yeah." His eyes remained on his book, but he was beginning to lose focus. "Mom, when does a man...get to a point when he can make his own decisions?"

"Where's this coming from?" She looked down from the ceiling towards him.

"It's just...I look around, and I see people making these life-altering decisions by themselves. How are they able to live in this cruel and terrible world and make these choices as if they're nothing? Is there a point when it just...turns off?"

"Well, no. Matt, I'll be honest. Those people...the people you see, they're...well, their parents didn't do a good job."

"How?"

"Well, if they did, they wouldn't be so casual about everything. You have a caring parent, so you'll always look for the safest option and always come to those who love you for support. So, honey, if you're asking when you'll grow out of your parents...the answer should be never."

"Alright." Matt replied nonchalantly, wanting to explode in a fireball of objections and arguments, but knowing he couldn't possibly do that.

_To me?"_

---------------------------------------------------------

_Mother will she tear your little boy apart?_

A small segment of land, perhaps just 100 feet in diameter, was smack dab in the middle of the most curious area. The segment was perfect. The grass was cut by a machine and never grew out of control, the gardens were flawless, the small house was quaint, yet roomy, and Matt had everything he could ever want. But as soon as the circle of paradise ended, there was nothing.

Nothing but darkness and fog. A complete mystery. Who knew what was behind this strange smog? But Matt would rather not find out. His paradise was all he needed. He could feel the presense of strange things beyond the smog. Working furiously, he had been trying to build a barrier between the paradise and the unknown. It was the only way to be safe.

He was but one man, but the fear of the outside world was driving him to completion. Like a madman, he created a circle of bricks all around his heaven, then began to slab cement and shove bricks on top of those bricks. His arms ached with each slap of concrete or placement of a brick, but he could not risk being exposed to-

And then, he was back in familiar territory. He felt the cold sweat down his face even as he sprung out of bed like a jack-in-the-box. He reached under his pillow for a gun, just them remembering he...didn't have a gun.

He tried to retain the dream within his mind, but it was hard...it wouldn't stay. Something about a paradise, outside mystery, and bricks. He remembered panic, but no more.

What could it mean?

_Mother will she break my heart?_

--------------------------------------------------------

_Hush, my baby. baby, don't you cry._

_Momma's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you._

_Momma won't let anyone dirty get through._

_Momma's gonna wait up until you get in._

_Momma will always find out where you've been._

_Momma's gonna keep baby healthy and clean._

_Oooo babe._

_Oooo babe._

_Ooo babe, you'll always be baby to me._

_Mother, did it need to be so high?_

--------------------------------------------------------


	7. Goodbye Blue Sky

Chapter 7: Goodbye Blue Sky

"Dear Higher Entity of our Existence.

Good day, whoever or whatever you may be, if you are even anything at all. I'm not quite sure what to say, or how to say it. I'll start with my current situation. I'm now twenty-two years old. I just finished my fourth year of college. Generally I got through school with solid scores and appear to have a satisfactory future in line, with many different possibilities.

And yet, even though I'm well aware of all of this, I'm absolutely terrified.

_Did you see the frightened ones?_

By fluke happening, you see, an agent from the states in the music industry took notice of my exceptional abilities at playing various instruments, singing, and writng songs. Tomorrow we plan to fly across the pacific to America. He's got appointments lined up for me with Tower, Sony, Columbia...I get the impression he's really fond of me.

My father died because of a plane, but that's not even it. Every summer during high school and college, I've come to see my mother, or she's come to see me. Every holiday, every break, every chance I get, I come back to her. And now...well, I'm really moving out, and I can't come back. Ever. I don't think I'm ready to go out on my own.

She won't come with me. She hates America, or loves Japan, too much. So starting tomorrow I'll have an endless ocean separating me from her. She doesn't want me to go, and I usually always take her advice, but...even I know this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. This is my love, my passion, and if I don't take this chance I may be doomed to a lifetime of misery, doing something I hate.

Nevertheless, I sense my decision to move has...created a distance between me and my mother. Now that I've disobeyed her on such a massive decision, I'm not just her little boy anymore. She's just a little more cold towards me. A little more disdainful. And I'm not sure I'm ready for that. My life, and all it's responsibilities, have fallen to me in full. And I'm not ready.

Now, I'm not blaming you. That'd be unfair. And there are people out there worse off than me, so it'd be hard for me to justify this kind of complaining. However, I've had a really rough childhood. Before I was born, my father died in a war. His death was irrelevant, a drop in an ocean of perpetual suffering and death, his very death warrant stamped by the hand of the Japanese Government. They say his death was necessary for the future of this world, that the destruction of the forces of 'evil' in that war made this world a much better place. Yet, I don't see it. How is this world, really, better than it was before? They promised us some false utopia of perfection, where everyone is happy and content. But how is this better than the cruel dictatorships we might have had if we lost that war?

This...killed my mother. Not literally, but she was dead inside. She was warped by the terrible experience of having a loved one killed.

As a result, I fear she warped me. She did everything for me, and yet neglected me in the worst way. I know it doesn't make alot of sense, but to her I was always four years old. She might have loved me more than anything else, but she never taught me how to be a person. I never had a true childhood, cut off from all the things that usually make one up. So I'm scared.

_Did you hear the falling bombs?_

On top of this, I went to a horrible school. The teachers were terrible to all the students. Most were blissfully unaware, but I don't even think of that place as a school. It was a factory. An assembly line, attempting to take in all sorts of kids from all sorts of backgrounds and beliefs, and pummel them all into a single, uniform, 'normal' being. Originality and creativity weren't allowed. It was all stamped out, every kid was molded into the same 'shape', so to speak. Is this the new world we were promised after the war had been won? Did my father die so everybody could be the same? How is this different from the fascist regime we might have had? If it was up to these higher authorities, we'd all be robots, programmed to know a certain set of information that we can use to take up generic jobs in this world.

I didn't submit to their attempts to mold me. It happened in college too, but I fought the good fight. Even now, my career as a musician no doubt frustrated those who tried to shape me. Now I can't help but wonder...given all that, what's to become of my life now? I

Has all of this completely ruined any life I might have had? I've had a rough childhood, but does that mean I'll never be able to have an adequate adulthood? Can I leave the scars of these last twenty-two years behind and start anew? I'm being thrown into the fire here, completely unprepared for the sinful world that's out there because of my sheltering. Is it over? Am I simply a failed experiment, destined to fail miserably in this world, now that I've been ruined in my young years?

I lost my father so a faceless government could exchange one system of being with an equally flawed one. I lost my childhood because my mother couldn't stand the loss of her husband. I've only just managed to hold onto myself, my originality, what makes me me. Now, as I enter adulthood, could I catch a break? Maybe you don't care, but all of this has made me...distant. This world doesn't seem to like me, so I try not to interact with it as much as possible. I know it can't be healthy, but it's so much easier to just hide in my room.

In conclusion, I'm entering a phase of my life, and I don't want it to be like this one. Help?

_Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath the clear blue sky?_

Matt Yamoto."

He deftly folded the letter in half and set it on the end table to his left. He set the pencil down next to it. It was a little...ridiculous, sure, given he wasn't even positive he believed in a god. But getting all that down on paper was admittedly nice. Just having all that to look at felt good, even if it was a reminder of his lackluster childhood.

He leaned back into his bed, letting it's plushy comfort soak him in. He wished it would soak him in and never let him go, so he'd have an excuse to just stay here forever. No such thing would happen, but he slowly sunk into the world of sleep and dreams.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

A shocking, loud, abrasive explosion. Another followed, and another, and another, seemingly into eternity. The ground shook, Matt couldn't even get a bearing on where he was or what he was doing thanks to the immense pain in his head and the shaking of the ground. He couldn't even get up from his prone position he felt so disabled.

He was suddenly pulled up by the back of his jacket, too disoriented to know who or what was to credit for this action. He was being roughly dragged across the ground, occasionally flying through the air for short intervals of time, the sound of gunfire now mixing in with the explosions. He was sure they were getting closer, but couldn't make out anything else.

After a few more minutes of this confusing journey, he was thrown roughly back to the ground, in a darkened area. Slowly, he rolled over onto his back. Wherever he was, there was a roof just about eight feet over his head, black and simple in design. He bent his waist forward, pushing himself up.

There were at least a dozen others in this...chamber. They were all naked, wearing gas masks, curled up against the walls of the room, shivvering. He could still feel and hear the explosions, make out machine gun fire, even in this place of 'safety'. He saw an opening back to the outside world at the end, a door blown off it's hinges right beside it.

_Did you see the frightened ones?_

He reached up and grabbed at his face, touching his cheeks and forehead. He didn't have a mask like everyone else. Was this bad? Was there gas?

"What's going on?" He screamed at the closest person. The naked, pathetic, masked figure came out of his fetal position slowly to look up at him.

"You don't know?" He yelled back, even as the explosions got closer.

"No! Enlighten me!"

"It's the Japs! They're fucking the whole place up!"

"What! No-...no, this is some sort of mistake-"

"No mistake man. The gas is coming any second, get a mask-"

"Why?! What are they doing here?"

"They're trying to topple everything, man. Kill the dictators, gut the government...replace our faulty system with another faulty one. We don't even want their help...they could care less about what we want. Get a mask!"

Matt began to look around in a panic. "I-I don't have one! Where are they?"

"You don't have one? He heard a small sardonic laugh. "Nice knowing you."

Another massive explosion. It was very close now.

_Did you hear the falling bombs?_

"I want my mom!" Matt suddenly yelled, falling to his knees and grabbing at his hair. "I'm not ready for this! I can't do this!"

"You don't have a choice. Your mom ain't here, now get a mask or start fucking praying."

Matt rolled up into a ball, glancing towards the exit to the room. He could barely make out traces of a gas slipping in.

--------------------------------------------------------------

And then, he was awake. He sprung up like that toy in the "Don't Wake Daddy" board game thing, cold sweat covering his body. He wiped his body down, starting at the face, with the edge of his blanket. Of course it was a dream. How could it not occur to him as soon as he was in it? Being so scared like that...idiotic.

He laid back down, trying to get himself to fall back to sleep. He didn't even check a clock, the time didn't concern him. He just wanted to sleep and hopefully have a half decent dream before morning.

Try as he might, he couldn't shake that dream. It was so...terrifying, and it felt real. Helpless in that room, a thousand jet engines trying to bomb him into oblivion, no protection, no knowledge, great confusion...what was that supposed to mean?

_The flames are all long gone but the pain lingers on..._

And then he thought again of his childhood, and the adulthood he was about to enter. That letter...what was he going to do with it? Should he just burn it and try to forget about everything, act as if he was starting a new life tomorrow? Flush it down the toilet of the plane tomorrow? Eat it?

He didn't know what he would do. Much like he had no idea what he'd do starting tomorrow. He was lost, not ready to leave home, and yet he was forced to now. What he wouldn't give to reset his life and try again, perhaps build up some confidence and street smarts during his childhood. He'd give anything for another shot.

But it wasn't coming. He'd have to play the hand he was dealt. Tomorrow, he had a chance to at least refresh the system...he just had to give it his best shot.

_Goodbye Blue Sky...Goodbye, Blue Sky_

----------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was just starting to appear over the mountains to the east. Matt sat uneasily in the small seat next to the big window looking out on the runways and airplanes. He couldn't bring himself to read or listen to music right now. It was all too much. He felt so small right now, in this massive airport among masses of people. He wanted to distract himself with something, but his mind was stuck to the massive ocean he was about to cross. It made him sick just thinking about it. He looked down at the sea of concrete that made up the runway. This was a tiny fraction of the size that the ocean he was about to cross. He didn't know if he could take it. It was all too much.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" He heard his mom comment from the seat right next to him. "I could arrange for-"

"No. I couldn't do that, I'm too old for this." He responded, too robotically to be believable.

"Don't you still love me?"

"Of course, don't play that game!" He hissed back. "This is something I have to do, stop trying to pull me back!"

"I know I got a little...cold near the end there, but that was just anger. We could live together forever. Honey, I know you're not ready for the outside world. You know you're not ready for the outside world. Swallow your pride and come back to mommy. We have all we'll ever need."

And then, the announcement came through the loudspeaker. Filtered by the electronics, but still audible over the conversations all around.

"Fight 335 for Detroit now boarding at Gate L. Fight 335 for Detroit now boarding at Gate L."

An easy out. All he had to do was get up and start walking, and it'd be over forever. He pushed himself up, grabbing his two bags as he did, and began to walk off mechanically. He stopped three steps into his march, not turning to face his mom. "Goodbye, mother. Goodbye." And then, without a glance behind, he was back on his way.

_Goodbye._

_Goodbye._


	8. Empty Spaces

Chapter 8: Empty Spaces

"You see the charts, bru?" Came the filtered, english accent through the earpiece of his headset phone. Matt blinked. He had seen them...what had they said? He rubbed his chin, feeling the five o'clock shadow grind against his fingers.

"Yeah, seven. And stop fucking calling me bru."

"Okay, okay. You even know what it means?"

"No, and I don't care." 

"Fine, fine." He heard a snicker on the other side. "See how that works? When you first got here last year, I could call you whatever the fuck I want. And you'd just have to sit there and take it. Now that you've made it, you can ask whatever you want."

"Yeah, I got that. Now you gonna say something of actual interest? Or should I save us all the time and just hang up?"

"Whatever man. You wanna go out tonight, celebrate? Making the top 10 on the billboard means alot in this country, especially on a debut album-"

"No." He tapped the earpiece with his right index finger, cutting the connection, leaving the painful drone of a dial tone in his ear. He ripped the headset off and set it down to his left on the wooden planks that made up the floor.

He was sitting against the back wall of his apartment, on the floor, his knees tucked up close to his chin. He didn't know why, but he sat like this often. He liked it. He felt small and conservative, like he was doing something to help the overpopulation problem in the world. Was he? Of course not, but it was nice to think about things like that.

It was certainly better than thinking about why, inspite of his rather stunning success within the music industry almost instantly, he still felt lost and confused in this 'adult' world. He had money, fame, a future, and yet still felt he didn't belong. Something hadn't come together.

He couldn't have asked for anything more. It was as if god had read his letter and given him everything his heart desired. His adult life, thus far, had yet to be hindered by his lackluster child life. Everything was going smooth. Why, he even had-

He heard the telltale click of the lock on the front door, then the door itself opening. Yes, he even had...her. He didn't get up. He felt good sitting there just now. She would come to him.

"Matt?" Came the feminine voice from the other room. Matt didn't make a sound. He just sat there, starring at the picture of a Van Gogh imitation on the other side of the room intently. "Come on, you here?"

She came into the living room, her eyes falling on Matt. "Can't you at least start saying something?"

Matt tilted his head to look over at her, his expression that resembled something of disgust and hatred refusing to melt away inspite of the presense of his wife of only one month. She was indeed beautiful, whether she spent four hours trying to make it so or not. Auburn hair topped her heart shaped face, hourglass figure, mocha complexion, and sleek legs. Even now, in a simple set of jeans and a sleeveless shirt, it could be seen she was something special.

She was Mary. She had fallen for him almost as soon as he had come to America, following him everywhere, giving him endless confirmation of his great musical talent, and all in all being the best friend Matt had ever had.

She certainly loved him, to the point where they were willing to get married so quickly. And he loved her back, he was sure of that. But, now that they were married, he was quickly realizing something terrible: He didn't know how to express it.

_What shall...we use...to fill...the empty spaces..._

In the beginning, Matt didn't have to do anything. Smile every now and then, offer to pay for everything, talk a bit about your childhood and what you like, and at least pretend to listen when she started talking about herself. Now that they were married, however, it was a completely different game. One he couldn't play.

"Hey." He grumbled. "Sorry." He tilted his head to the left.

"It's alright. So...anything you want to tell me?" She leaned down, expectantly.

Matt blinked. "Seven." He finally said, slowly and deliberately.

She clapped her hands in front of her face in a single, swift movement. "Seven?! You're kidding!"

"Nope." He moaned. He hated talking. He wasn't good at it, unless it was a pre-written speech. He was always terrified of saying something he might regret, accidentally open himself up.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Wonderful! Honey, we've gotta do something tonight! I could call up Sakura's, and-"

"I don't want to go anywhere." He said slowly. He didn't even look up to her upon this statement.

A pause. "Well...alright. You want to do anything? C'mon, honey, you're rich now! You've made it big!"

He glanced up at her for a split second. "Alright." Slowly, he pushed himself up erect, coming to his full 6'1 height, towering above Mary. He slowly walked off towards the reclining chair in the middle of the room. He could feel her eyes following his movements as he stood with the seat of the chair behind him and plopped down hard. He pressed his index finger down into the remote control on the armrest, kicking the TV into life. His eyes dropping, half covering his pupils, as he began to monotonously pound the channel up button every two seconds.

"Is something wrong?" He heard her ask.

He wanted to say the four simple words he had wanted to scream every day since he had come to America. Call for his lifeline, demand the presense of the only force in his life who could give him what he wanted and make him happy. He could certainly never say it, for the four words would certainly ruin his reputation and destroy his life as he knew it. But it would be so relieving, a release. He wanted to look up at Mary, and say "I want my mommy", but he could never do that. So, he did nothing, and settled for just looking bored and depressed.

"Come on, honey, talk to me. You can tell me anything."

Oh, if only that was true. If it was his mom, he'd tell _her_ anything...but there were some things he would just have to hold inside from all these people, they could never know.

_where...we used to talk?_

He couldn't take this. These adult responsibilities were killing him. He was lucky enough to have a talent in music, meaning many of these duties would be unneccessary, but he wasn't even capable of keeping this relationship going.

After about three cycles of the channels, he heard footsteps-not from the TV, but from within the apartment. He rotated his eyeballs from left to right, taking note of the fact Mary wasn't there anymore.

"Where are you going?" He called out suddenly, his eyes back on the TV even though he could care less about what was actually happening in the program. In fact, he didn't even know what he was watching.

"...out. Just...somewhere."

"Alright." He grunted. He heard the door shut in the distance. He closed his eyes and went into deep thought.

He started to talk to himself. Very quietly, you'd have to get up very close to hear what he had to say. "What am I doing?" He breathed. "She's the best person I've ever known. She cares me, loves me, is willing to tolerate my 'lone wolf' bullshit. She's the one who's going to save me from myself? Why do I refuse to open up?"

He banged his head against the headrest of the recliner. Every time he pushed her away, he could feel his mind restricting closed, like a throat during an allergic reaction.

"She wouldn't hurt me...she'd never hurt me...or would she?"

Why wouldn't she? His mother, as much as Matt loved her, had hurt him with kindness, and he knew it. His teachers had hurt him with physcial and mental beatings. Everyone he had ever met in his life had hurt him, what made her special?

_How shall I fill...the final places?_

"I...I don't know what to do." He leaned back, trying to reason within his mind. He needed to save himself, but to save himself he'd have to open himself up to the same potential pain he already knew too well.

"I...can't. I can't. I can't." He finally told himself. He'd stay closed, within his shell. He couldn't let anything hurt him. He was save where he was, and there was no need to stick his neck out and risk what he had in his mind.

"But...well she still love me?"

Of course! She's loved me to this point, no reason why that should change. Soon, I'll have so much money she won't even care how distant I am. As soon as the checks start rolling in I can do whatever I want.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere, in a place so far, yet so close, a barrier made of anger and depression was coming together, only small segments and sections still open to the outside and the unknown...

_How...should I...complete...the wall..._


	9. Young Lust

Chapter 9: Young Lust

"Super job tonight." The ever-positive, annoyingly cute woman waxed on as Matt lay down in his trailer. She was right, of course, the concert had gone exceedingly well. But somehow, when she said it in her hyper, high-pitched, little girl tone, he thought he'd rather get hit in the balls with a wrecking ball than do a 'super job.'

"What are you even doing here?" He moaned, closing his eyes and trying to relax.

"To like, give you verbal support! Let you know how good a job you're doing, remind you that you're great, all that good stuff!"

"I don't need some little shit telling me I did a good job. I think I can tell for myself, I'll tell my damn self when I do a good job."

"Oh, sure! But there's nothing quite like people telling you you're great! It validates it, it-"

"Go find Jim, get your paycheck or whatever, and get the fuck out of here. I don't even wanna see you again, go get a real damn job."

"Matt, you don't understand, I-"

Matt responded with a long, pointed finger in the direction of the door of the trailer. The girl rolled her eyes, shrugged, and jumped up. "Alright, Matty, I see you're in a bad mood. See you tomorrow!" She skipped out of the trailer, unfazed by what Matt had to say.

_I am just a new boy, stranger in this town..._

But he didn't particularly care. If she wanted to show up tomorrow or next week, he'd just tell her to leave again. He honestly could care less about her, like he could care less about pretty much everything these days.

His cell phone began going off from the inside of his jacket, the light tones calling to attention someone wanting to talk to him. Slowly, he slipped his hand inside the jacket, felt around for the rectangular object, and whipped it out, flicking it open with the fingernail of the index finger of his right hand.

"Hey man, we got some people with backstage passes comin' around, prepare yourself!"

Matt tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "I thought I told you to stop selling those."

"Yeah, you did. That ain't how it works. It's part of the business. Now, I got a look at some of these backstagers. You didn't hear it from me, but...I think you can score an easy lay."

"Fuck you. I'm married."

"Happily? Come on man, nobody cares, Mary's on the other side of a fucking state border. She'll never have to know. Besides, I've seen you with her, you don't exactly seem thrilled. I know you're new to all this, but this isn't gonna be anything. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, never see the girlie again. Trust me, you'll want to give it a shot."

And then the dial tone kicked in, before Matt could work a syllable out of his throat. He set the phone down on the table before him, closing his eyes slowly, preparing himself for the bombardment of more ridiculously nosey fans.

And yet, he couldn't help but give what his manager had just said some thought.

Something he was very surprised to find himself doing.

But it was very tempting. A girl who he had never met before, presumably good-looking, who worshipped him, pleasuring him with no holds barred, then never seeing him again. Nothing expected to be given in return, no weighty relationship or emotional commitment to make, just...sex without love. Sex for the sake of sex.

He allowed a tiny smile to cross his face. He'd get a look at these girls first.

_Where are all the good times?_

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the stereotypical man's dream come true. The foursome of young, pretty girls came into the backstage area already topless, soaked with beer, and ready to party. Matt swung the door to the trailer open, donned a pair of massive sunglasses to give himself a small sense of protection, and trotted down the steps to the concrete floor.

Robert was already getting dryhumped by one of the girls, who had wasted no time in getting to the point before she got thrown out by some no-fun whistleblower. Bob had the end of a short length of hose in his mouth, the other end connected to a funnel that another of the...what was the word...roadies was pouring booze into. The other two had ganged up on the equipment manager, trying to get permission to touch the instruments. Matt watched, slowly coming to lean against the wall of his trailer, hands in his pocket, waiting for one of the beauties to approach him. If he liked what he saw, maybe...just maybe...

And then, a dull thunk was heard from above. He tilted his head back, scrolling across the night sky, until he saw another unfamiliar woman on top of the trailer. She was looking down, over the edge, apperantly planning to jump Matt.

"Down." He muttered up at her, as if she was a dog, and he the master. Just a single, solitary word, no extra syllables to confuse her.

"Oh don't tell me a rockin' star like yourself doesn't know how to party!" She said playfully, smiling widely and showing a complete disinterest in following Matt's order.

_Who's gonna show this stranger around?_

Matt spun around and took a few steps back, still looking up at her. She had dirty blonde hair that fell down to her shoulders, looked anorexic, and had a big mouth. She wore a ratty, old, blue vest, which hung loosely on her body. She had no undershirt, so her breasts were hanging out for all to see. He couldn't see the rest of her, but he already had a pretty solid idea of what he was dealing with.

"What's your name?" He asked, not yet giving away his intentions through facial expressions.

"Sarah!" She responded, going to a prone position atop the trailer.

"Well, Sarah." He looked down at the ground, guilty thoughts crossing his mind, before he decided to let his ethics go for just one evening. "I think you'll find the view down here much nicer."

"I dunno, I like what I see up here." She responded.

Matt slowly put his hands on the lapels of his jacket and began pulling them away from his body, slowly pushing the fabric off his body. It fell away, fluttering to the floor behind him, leaving just his thin, white, plain undershirt. You could see his toned body through the cloth.

"Come on, you might get more than you bargained for." He responded.

_Ooooh, I need a dirty woman...Ooohhh, I need a dirty girl._

She disappeared, pulling herself back from the edge of the trailer. A second later, he heard the thud of her sliding off the side. Then she came back around to Matt. "You know, they say in the papers and on the shows that you're a bit of a jackass to the fans. I didn't believe them." She walked up to him, just a few feet from him now.

"I'll bet you didn't." He nodded. "Now, why don't you and find us some liquor and we can get to know each other?"

She gave one of her massive, stretched smiles and walked off. After she had turned her back, Matt pointed to one of the roadies and snapped his fingers.

"You. I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. If anybody asks, I'm on the moon."

"Of course."

-----------------------------------------------------

Matt violently threw the bottle of liquor across the parking lot, pegging a parked car right in the windshield. The glass and liquid went everywhere, the windshield cracking under the impact. Matt raised two wobbly arms into the air.

"See, love? 8 shots and I still got perfect aim! Told ya!" He said in the general direction of Sarah, who was lying on the asphalt next to him.

"Alright, I owe you...something. Later." She responded, equally wobbly.

_Will some cold woman in this desert land...make me feel like a real man?_

"I'll hold ya to that!" He said, looking around. "Hey. You ever driven with a guy who's had 8 shots of hard liquor before?"

"Nah."

"Well, it's a great fuckin time! Let me tell you, great fuckin time! Come on, I'll take you somewhere nice."

"You sure we'll be alright?"

"Oh yeah, check it out." He pushed himself up, picked Sarah up by the forearm, and began helping her walk down the lot. "My ride's just a bit down this way."

He turned the corner around the square of cars and pointed at a massive, borderline illegal sports utility vehicle.

"This one's just, like, thiiiiss" he put his thumb and index finger about a eighth of an inch apart "close to being illegal. Just barely passed inspection. It gets like four miles to the gallon, but when's the last time the ozone layer did shit for me? You know? In this thing, anything that gets in my way is the gonna be the think that suffers."

"Nice wheels." She ran up to the monster truck, looking at the gigantic wheels. "Where'd you get this?" 

"If I killed ya, I'd have to tell you." He pulled out a keychain and stomped his thumb down on a button pad until the doors unlocked. "Get in."

She reached up over her head, grabbed the handle, and yanked. The door opened up and she climbed in. Matt stumbled around to the other side, and pulled himself up into the driver seat.

"Alright miss, buckle your seat, because this is gonna be-" And then, he saw it. His car key on the dashboard, which was sticking out of the end of a narrow, short tube with blinking lights and buttons all along it. "Oh. Well, fuck. I plum forgot." He grabbed the key.

"What's the matter?"

"Well...I got in some trouble in..." he rubbed his forehead, trying to recall... "Miami, now they gave me this special key. I got to pass some breath alcohol test to get the car to start."

"Aw."

"It's alright. We'll go with a DD for now." He reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, activating the two-way radio feature. "I need someone sober to drive."

_Take this rock and roll refugee...Ooh, baby set me free..._

---------------------------------------------------------

"Now. I'm gonna have to ask you to be honest with me. I don't care which answer you give me, I just want it to be true. Is this gonna be your first?" Matt asked as the massive car rolled across the streets, some random roadie who's name he couldn't bother to remember at the wheel.

"Hell no!" She said, slapping him on the back playfully. "I know what I'm doing. I think the real question is, do you?"

"Of course I know what I'm doing! I'm Matt fuckin Yamoto! You'll see what I mean when we get there." He sat back in the seat, trying to hold back the nausea that came with drinking massive amounts.

Then, the truck slowed to a halt, parking alongside the curb.

"We there already?" Matt asked, grabbing the door handle.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now be a good boy, and don't tell anybody where we went." He pulled the door open and slid down the side. Sarah followed, landing hard on the sidewalk. She reached up high to slam the door, and the car rumbled off.

Matt pointed towards the building they had stopped in front of. "We're staying here. I'll take you to-"

And then, his watch went off. He looked down at it, not welcoming the abrupt and unexpected noise mixing in with his already tumbling awareness. It was mixing in with the sound of cars zooming past and people talking in the background. He tried to remember why it might go off...

"Oh. Oh! That's right!" He looked around, disoriented by his hazed vision. "Sarah, you go on inside, I've got something I've got to do. Only take a couple minutes."

"Oh, come on! Can't it wait?" She pleaded, holding onto his arm, clearly afraid to lose him.

"No, not this. I'll be in before you know it, just go inside." He pointed towards the glass double doors in front, a doorman standing just behind it, watching the two with mild interest.

"Alright." She walked off, clearly not entirely trustworthy that Matt hadn't decided to get cold feet at the last second.

Matt stumbled off towards a stall he thought might be a pay phone against the hotel wall. He had to call Mary. That's what the alarm was for. They had planned for a conversation at this time, but he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to be civil in his state of drunkeness. But it'd be worse if he didn't make the call period, so he'd just have to pull off the best act he could.

He had completely forgotten about this, and now it was just awkward. He was about to try to have a normal talk with his wife, then go into a hotel room and cheat on her with some girl he met about half an hour ago. Was this talk going to end his wild night? Would he come back to reason after the conversation? He feared so, but he must take the risk.

He slammed against the stall, steadying himself on the metal dividers on either side of the actual phone, then grabbed the phone out of the cradle.

He felt in his pockets, then in his jacket, then everywhere else. His wallet was gone...one of the girls must have taken it. Son of a bitch.

He deftly pushed the '0' button on the keypad and put his ear to the earpiece.

_Oooh, I need a dirty woman. Ooooh, I need a dirty girl._

The robotic, machine voice began speaking to him. "Greetings. How may I be of service?"

"I'm trying to make a collect call to..." what was his number again? Oh god, this was pathetic, he couldn't even remembet his own number...wait... "343-555-4672. My name is Matt Yamoto, I'm calling Mary Yamoto."

"Very well, sir." Came the computerized voice again. "One moment."

Matt glanced around him quickly as he waited for the voice to return. He could make out a mugging across the street, a pair of street walks on the corner, and a neon light that read "SAM ADAMS" flicker dead. He set his eyes on a dog chasing another dog into an alleyway when the voice came up again.

"I'm sorry, sir. 343-555-4672 has refused to accept the charges."

"What? What?" Matt spat out, wondering if computers had expanded their artifical intelligence to sarcasm when he wasn't paying attention.

"He hung up."

"You dialed the wrong number, you stupid shit! Do it again!"

"Very well, sir."

He placed his hand on the brick wall of the hotel, leaning over against it, agitated that this stupid technology was getting in the way of what was going to be an unforgettable."

"I'm sorry, sir. 343-555-4672 has refused to accept the charges."

"Fuck you." Matt responded flatly. "Why don't you call up your supervisor and tell him somethings wrong with you and you need to be taken to some garbage dump to get crushed?"

"The correct number was dialed, sir. The receiver simply hung up."

Matt took a deep breath, sucking in polluted night air, then spewed it out before continuing. In that moment of rest, a terrible feeling grabbed his gut. He sobered in an instant, even skipping the hangover. No, this stomachache had nothing to do with drinking.

"...give me the exact details of what happened." Matt dared to request, beginning to sweat now. He grabbed his stomach, feeling a sick feeling descending into it.

"I called the number. Receiver picked up. Receiver said 'Hello?' I said 'Matt Yamoto is calling collect, from New York, to contact Sarah Yamoto, would you like to accept the charges?' Receiver hung up."

"Okay...second time?"

"I called the number. Receiver picked up. Receiver hung up."

He kicked the brick wall with his left foot, sending shocks of pain through his leg. Gritting his teeth through what he felt must be a broken toe, he continued to question the computer. "Who said...hello?"

"I'm sorry, your inquiry is invalid."

"Fine." He took another steadying breath. "What was the gender of the person who said hello?"

"Male."

Matt froze, feeling as if he had just gotten kicked in the gut that had been so pained just a second ago. There was no other explanation. Slowly, the phone slipped from his hand. And then, he released it in a sudden motion, gravity pulling it down to earth, until the metal cord which held it in place went taut and it was left to hang there.

Slowly, as Matt pictured his Mary in bed with another man, at this very moment less than a thousand miles away, he put his back to the brick wall and began to crumple to the ground. He put his palm to his forehead, reliving every time he went wrong in the relationship, as he slowly fell to the ground of the parking lot, cramming himself against the wall, Sarah completely forgotten for the moment.


	10. One of My Turns

Chapter 10: One of My Turns

After a period of time he wasn't sure of, Matt got up from the concrete and tried to casually walk into the hotel. She was still waiting in the front lobby, not showing any particular displeasure, so it couldn't have been long. He looked at her through the glass doors, pressing his face against the panels. He felt the coldness of the glass on his face, wishing it might crack into a million shards and he could fall on the remains, impaling himself on them so he could bleed to death. He wasn't a suicidal guy, he didn't think he could consciously off himself, but it would be wonderful right now if it happened by accident.

With the strength of what felt like a billion Matts, he pushed the doors open and slid into the Hotel, feeling the sudden rush of warmth rush over him. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to be out in the cold. He had left his home unprotected, and allowed someone to simply come in and take all that was dear to him. He should have been there to fight off...whoever he was, not thousands of miles away playing trivial music for unimportant fans.

She grabbed his arm and began pulling him across the lobby, through lines of people, some turning their heads in recognition of someone famous in the area. A combination of an alcoholic smell and a dead look in his eyes, however, repelled anybody from actually approaching him. In fact, in his current state, he probably barely looked like himself at all.

_Day after day...love turns grey...like the skin of a dying man..._

"Are you alright?" She finally inquired.

No response. He didn't feel like talking to someone who could never understand what he was going through right now. Like a zombie, he continued to walk across the tiles of the lobby as she led him to the elevator.

"Oh, don't go dead on me now!" She said. "Can't you hear me?"

Matt continued to simply follow her like a emotionally damaged puppy, unable to communicate things such as emotional well-being.

"Oh, alright. You'll feel alot better in that room of yours."

She led him across the rest of the lobby, up to an elevator. She pushed the upwards button in, lighting it up, sending a large capsule capable of carrying over two tons of weight their way.

"You know, Matt...you're gonna have to tell me your room number. I'm not a mind reader, you know."

Matt's cheek twitched, but no sound came out.

"Alright, fine, mister strong and silent." The elevator's stainless steel doors slid open to an empty carriage, and the two walked in.

_Night after night...we pretend it's all right..._

As Matt walked in, robotically, Matt flung his hand at the array of buttons and pushed down on the one representing floor 12. He then took up his slouched stance in the direct center of the elevator, feeling the pressures created by travelling upwards at such a speed. He wished a malfunction in the machines that controlled it would cause it to shoot upwards at the speed of sound. Perhaps the G-force would crush his untrained, unprepared body, or the capsule would shoot up out of the building into the sky, crushing them when it impacted the ground. It would be the merciful thing to do, to both himself and this poor girl.

He could feel the gears inside his mind clicking. He was coming back to a functional state, slowly but surely. He didn't know what he'd do once he did, but he was certain it wouldn't be good for himself or anyone around him. How could it be?

The doors slowly slid open, revealing a hallway of red and white, with doors aligned symmetrically down either side. They began the trek down it, Sarah waiting for a signal from Matt confirming they were at the correct door.

Matt wondered what might happen if he just kept walking straight. What would she do? Would she react? Just leave? Go with the flow? What might he run into? A wall, vending machine, person...interesting possibilities.

And then, he was grounded back inside of reality. Cold, hard reality, where his wife was cheating on him. The same reality that had sobered him instantly, making him realize he was intending on returning the favor. Yes, it was a loveless marriage that neither enjoyed, but that didn't make it righ-

And then, there it was. Room 589. He unconsciously stopped in the middle of the hallway and lurched into the frame. He reached inside his jacket, feeling around in the inside pockets, then wildly began patting down his entire body. After about fifteen seconds of this frantic searching, Matt abruptly rammed his shoulder into the door hard, causing it to swing open violently and slam against the adjacent wall. His momentum carried him halfway into the room, where he just stood, slouched, not sure of how to follow this.

_But I have grown older, and you have grown colder, and nothing is very much fun...anymore._

"Damn! This is your room! And how long are you here, a weekend? Two days?" She had walked into the room as if there was nothing odd about Matt going through the motions of breaking and entering. "All these guitars...man, you guys have it made!" She turned around, shutting the door and slipping the boltlock into place.

Matt, however, remained unresponsive, and instead flung himself into a reclining chair set up in the corner of the room, picked up the remote lazily, flicked on a small television embedded within the wall he was facing, and reclined the chair back as far as it could.

"This place is bigger than my parent's apartment...and they have two kids! You rock stars really have it made." She came up behind Matt's chair, watching the screen. "What's this?"

Matt remained motionless, hardly blinking, watching the screen as if his life depended on it.

"As you can see, they've taken the 51st and the 52nd...oh, Colonel Jeffries, you're late. Well, sit down, I've only just started. Now, as I was saying...they've begun to move in a southwest direction, likely an attempt to flank-"

"I think I've seen this before..." She commented, looking down at Matt.

Matt blinked, but did not show any signs of acknowledging her presence or comment. He swallowed some saliva, slowly and deliberately.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She asked quietly, bending down to him.

Matt wanted to command her to leave. Leave, start running away from this place, and never stop. Forget this had ever happened. Go on with life as if the events of tonight had never occurred. Matt would never be able to do such a thing, but she still could.

"I'm...just gonna look at the guitars over here until you feel alright." She said slowly, backing away from Matt, heading towards the closet by which a trio of guitars was standing.

_And I...can feel...one of my turns coming on..._

Matt tried to summon the courage and humanity to tell her to leave. Just go, never look back. But even as these thoughts circled his mind, he felt his pain and suffering mounting inside him into physical manifestation. Anger, hatred, disgust, all of it floating to the surface of his cerebrum.

What had he done in his past life to earn this? He had already suffered through nearly two decades of an incomplete and ruined childhood. Who could even consider making his life worse than it already had been? What monster could commit such an act?

He heard Sarah begin to fool around with the red guitar. Just plucking at the strings, playing a simple melody.

Of course, he had been minutes from committing the exact same act. Why? Why had he agreed to such a thing? Just minutes ago he had been having the time of his life. Only after seeing it from the other side did he realize what a sickening and crushing thing it was to do.

Why did she ever have to show up?

Did she have to get backstage passes? Isn't enough to watch the fucking show? Why was she climbing on my RV anyway? What gives her the right?

Perhaps this was karma. An eye for an eye. The higher powers of this universe punishing him for impure thoughts and actions with a penance to fit the crime.

He hadn't planned to! It was in the heat of the moment. She was there, he was there, everyone was suggesting it...how couldn't he?

_I...feel...cold as a razor blade, tight as a tourniquet, dry as a funeral drum..._

This wasn't fair at all...he didn't do anything wrong. Any man in his situation certainly would have. What had he done wrong?

From the sea of emotions that formed the primordeal soup of his mind at the moment, one began to rise. Sensory overload was passing.

Anger began to overtake every fiber of his being. Anger at everyone and everything on this world, for putting him through this cursed life.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair. He pushed up in a fluid motion, landing squarely on his feet, then reared his right arm back, punching forward in a single fluid motion right through the television screen. The electronic buzz sent sharp sensations up his arm, and the shattering of glass cut his fist, but he didn't care. All that mattered right now is that things in this world had to pay for what they had done to him.

He turned around, fluidly picking up the reclining chair he had been sitting on. Sarah had of course noticed Matt's initial outburst and had quickly turned to the scene. She stared in shock as Matt picked up the recliner, momentarily endowed with unnatural strength because of his anger, and hurl it at her. She threw the guitar to the side and ducked, just in time to avoid the flying furniture. It crashed into the wall behind her, creating an unsightly dent before falling to the ground.

_Run to the bedroom, in the suitcase on the left, you'll find my favorite axe!_

She bolted for the door as Matt sprung towards the grouping of guitars. Again, with the grace of one doing a dance, he grabbed the handle of one of the guitars and threw it violently at Sarah's back. Coincidentally, she tripped, hitting the deck but avoiding the far worse fate of being struck by the whirling instrument. If flew over, slamming into a mirror, shattering it and snapping the guitar in two, sending shards of glass and pieces of guitar to the carpet.

She scrambled to a standing position and ran up to the door, but before she could undo the lock, Matt was right there. She threw herself to the side, just as Matt threw a punch seemingly sent from Hercules himself into the door. Sarah watched in awe as the door actually buckled slightly under his fist.

He pulled his hand back from the now warped door, his fist a bloody mess. Sarah remembered to move just as Matt looked back at her, hate and rage still flowing from his body.

He lunged for the corner where Sarah had just been, grabbing onto a light fixture in the wall and yanking. It came out, sparking as wires were snapped and segments of plaster came with it. Sure enough, it became yet another projectile aimed at Sarah.

She ducked, but this time was not quite as successful. The semicircle of translucent material that encircled the lightbulb was on track to meet her forehead in midair, so she threw her forearm up to cover. The blow knocked her backwards to the ground, sounding off in the form of a resounding crack that probably spelled a broken bone.

_Don't look so frightened, this is just a passing phase, one of my bad days!_

Pain from the injury blocked out for the moment, she rolled back up and ran for the only place left to go. The small kitchen area in the corner across from the front door. Using the counter and shelves as a shield, she ducked down, safe from Matt for the second, feeling her arm.

Matt reached across the counter and grabbed a heavy marble cutting board off the surface, feeling it's weight in his arms. He held it up over his head, walking around the counter purposefully, stepping from carpet to tile.

Sarah scrambled away back out of the kitchen, into the section of the room with the television and beds. Suddenly, changing tactics, Matt brought the cutting board down and hurled it like a frisbee at Sarah. She flattenened herself to the ground, causing it to fly right over her and crash with tremendous force into the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. The sound of breaking glass cascading down onto the floor drowned out Sarah's screams at Matt jumped on top of her.

A burst of adrenaline, which could not have come at a better time, saw Sarah cock her legs back and kick Matt off towards the now-broken glass door. Having no training in any sort of fighting or martial arts, the move must have been born of pure adrenaline as well.

Matt landed, face down, on the shards of glass. He arose, his entire front bloody and disfigured by the shards, some still stuck in his skin. Ignoring what must have been intense pain, he grabbed the broken television and hurled it.

_Would you like to watch TV?_

Sarah got to her feet and took off for the door again, ducking the TV. Losing blood fast, Matt leaped at the lone bed in the room, and in a seemingly impossible show of strength lifted the entire bed up. The entire thing flew at Sarah. There was no ducking this time, she was hit full in the back by this projectile.

She went down hard, the bed landing on top of her. She screamed again in pain, hoping against hope someone might show up.

_Or get between the sheets?_

Matt slowly stomped towards the mini fridge in the kitchen, rationality slowly returning but not nearly fast enough. He stood before the fridge, reached down, and picked it up. He ripped the cord out from it's socket as he took it over to Sarah's helpless body.

_Or contemplate the silent freeway?_

Sarah knew it was coming, and tried to get free of the bed the other way, but it's collective weight of a twin sized matress and frame was too much. Matt stood before Sarah's head, perhaps finally taking a second to enjoy himself, before he came down on her head with tremendous force. The fridge crushed her skull, her world fading to black in an instant, as life left her.

_Would you like something to eat?_

His blood now mixed with his, dripping to the ground, he yanked her barely alive body out from under the bed and flung it out the doorway to the fire escape. She cleared the metal bars that made up the balcony and began the long fall to ground level.

_Would you like to learn to fly?_

Matt went up to the fire escape's ledge, looking down on the body just as it hit the ground with massive force, landing in the middle of the busy street. Cars screeched to a halt and the flow of traffic was disrupted. He began to scream wildly down at the scene, fury not yet sated.

Blood dripped down from the ledge down to the street, as he continued to lose the precious liquid from wounds all over his body. He couldn't be bothered to even notice yet. He wondered if he should follow her off the edge. Maybe the best thing to do at this point.

But he just kept roaring down at her lifeless, mangled body.

_Would you like to see me try?_

"NICE TRY, FUCKERS!" He screamed down at the corpse before slowly turning back into the room. Stumbling thanks to blood loss, he stepped through and over the debris of the fight, making his way into the bathroom. He could hear commotion outside his room, someone had finally realized that wasn't just the TV.

He went into the bathroom, locked the door, roughly ripped everything from the shelves that looked like medical supplies down to the floor, and collapsed on back on the white tiles. He took several deep breaths, trying to come back from his state of unabated rage, enough to treat himself.

He had to admit. He felt better now.

_Why are you running away..._


	11. Don't Leave Me Now

Chapter 11: Don't leave me now

Carefully assuring the binding would be tight, Matt ran the roll of bandages around his forearm. The fight left him cut in more places than he could count. Not that he didn't try. During the patching process, which was nearly over, Matt estimated he had about 33 cuts of varying levels of severity all over his body. More or less, he was having a difficult time concentrating.

After taping it up to ensure it would stay, he fell back down on the floor with a thud. His hands began to feel around his body, trying to hunt down any remaining injuries. Slowly, he ran his hands over his chest, legs, pelvis, and head. As near as he could tell, he had done all he could.

He took a deep breath, pushing it all out rapidly in a split second, wondering if anyone would ever actually get the door open. Now that the rush was wearing off, he was beginning to wonder about a potential retribution for his actions. After all, nobody would ever understand what went on in the mind of the great Matt Ishida. He killed an 'innocent' girl as far as they knew.

Ah hell. Let them come. Who could really say what happened? For all anyone else knew it was self defense. And in this fucked up country, anything could get by in a court of law. Especially from a celebrity.

_Ooooh, babe. Don't leave me now._

He reached up for the towel rack, ripping the cloth down from it's metal hanging post. He began to wipe up the blood that still clung to him everywhere, a violent reminder of what had taken place just minutes ago.

After rubbing it all over his body, feeling the soft, yet rough touch of it's surface, he flattened it out in midair and looked at it. He blinked a few times. Maybe he'd been hit in the head harder than he thought at some point in the fight.

He shook the towel violently, but the disturbing image of blood wouldn't change or leave. Matt might have been going crazy, but he could have sworn, on the towel, there was a image of a man and woman having sexual intercourse.

The woman...well, of course he'd be thinking this way right now, and any rough drawing of a woman could easily look like...no, he was sure. It looked like her. His unfaithful wife. He'd bet every guitar he had that the rough drawing of red on the towel had a distinct look about it that made it resemble his wife.

The man he did not know. At least, from the imprint of blood. It didn't matter who it was, the revelant part was what he was doing. What he might even be doing at this very moment.

In the heat of the fight and the aftermath, he had nearly forgotten what had brought on his rage in the first place. But the blood imprint brought it back, branding it within his mind like a white hot poker might.

_Don't say it's the end of the road._

Why had it happened? What had he ever done to deserve this? Maybe he wasn't the greatest husband, but nobody deserved adultery. No one. It was illegal. He had done nothing wrong, at least not on that level.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't justice or karma. This was just unfair.

It wasn't his fault he had to be so cold and distant. Why couldn't she seek revenge on his dead father or overbearing mother or his cruel teachers? They were to blame.

He threw the towel against the wall, watching it slam against the plaster before slumping to the ground. Slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows. It was time to go back out and reap the fruits of his labor.

As he rolled over and got to his feet, he heard a sudden noise. Moaning. From his room. He was sure it was human. Someone was in his room. Then there was a series of loud squeaks and creaks. This person was doing something...violent. Or at least active.

Very, very active. He shook his head violently, trying to clear it, but the sound would not stop. Finally, he got to his knees, then to his feet. He swallowed, then slowly turned around. Concentrating hard on each step, he walked up to the bathroom door. In a ripping motion, he undid the lock, then opened the door.

The door pulled back, revealing a room. It was not his hotel room. This was another room. A room similar in nature to his, perhaps, but he was certain it wasn't his room. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

_Remember the flowers I sent?_

Against the back wall of the room, there was a bed. That was all he could make out clearly. He could see end tables, and closets, and a desk, situated around the room, but it was all very hazy. He wasn't even sure that what he thought he was seeing was really what he was looking at. Or if there was anything at all. The rest of the room was seemingly covered by a layer of smoke, it was hard to make any definite calls on what anything else was.

Or if there was anything there at all.

Maybe his mind had just blocked out everything else because of what was occuring on the bed. His wife, his beautiful, lovely, innocent wife, getting pleasured by another man.

Strangely, he didn't react too harshly. When this scenario played out in his head, he remembered some puking, breaking, screaming, and stabbing. Now, he was either frozen, seconds away from his violent reaction, or he simply didn't care.

Or he was in denial, refusing to believe this was real. Which was fair, given the only other explanation was somebody knocked down the entire hotel and built another one while not disturbing a bathroom on a high floor.

He continued to watch the passionate lovemaking in front of him. It was like a trainwreck. He wanted to turn away, because it was so horrible, but couldn't. He was...fascinated by it at the same time.

_I need you...babe...to put through the shredder in front of my friends._

"So, this...Matt. You're quite sure he won't come after me with an axe trying to castrate me? Because I'll need that if we're to continue...you know." Said the unknown man as they pulled up, stopping the animal-like lovemaking for a moment.

His once wife gave a sneer and chuckle. "He's always on the road. How will he ever find out in the first place? Even when he's home he hardly ever talks to me. He'll never have to know."

"But babe, Murphy's law. I just want to be sure my parts are going to stay where they belong."

"Oh, Matt's so dead inside he probably won't even care. He'll just move on to the next ditzy broad who'll do whatever he wants because he's famous. I swear the man has no emotions...he'll shrug and move on."

The man slowly nodded. "If you're sure."

"Sure I'm sure. I know this guy. He feels _nothing._" They went back at it, loving each other just as Matt had just months ago.

Matt swallowed again, hard. What the hell was she saying?

Who did she think she was? Who was she to say if he was insensitive or not? It wasn't her place to assume that cheating on him wouldn't hurt him.

And she was wrong! And how wrong...he had never felt worse in his life! How dare she?! What human could dare assume something like that?!

He briskly walked up to the bed, clenching his right hand into a tight fist, and let his momentum carry him through a powerful crosspunch aimed at the mass of flesh that this man and Mary. But as his fist approached contact, some strange force flung him backwards. He felt as if his own punch had made contact with himself as he was thrown back 5 feet from the bed.

_Oooh, babe. Don't leave me now._

He hit the floor with a dull thunk. He jumped back to his feet in a fluid motion before realizing his posterior shouldn't be making a dull thunk. He looked down at the ground, finding a carpeted floor, just the same as any other carpeted floor he might see in his life. He threw one last look at the bed, noticing his presence was either unnoticed or ignored by the couple, who were now entirely absorbed in their lovemaking, then bolted back for the bathroom door. There was something wrong with this place. He didn't like it.

He stood before the door and threw it back open, but to his dismay, the bathroom was gone. In it's place was a square room of pure white. His squinted his eyes, the glare from the white blinding.

It was completely empty, sans a dark, black couch right in the middle of it. It simply lay there, facing the opposite wall, offering no reason for it's presence. Matt trekked into the room, slouched over, tired of this strange place and it's unwelcome offerings.

But, as long as he had no choice, he would bite. He walked up to the couch, went around to the front, and plopped down.

Now that he sat down, he felt much freer. It was strange, but sitting on this couch, he felt all the terrible things he wished would happen to Mary flow into his mind without any inhibition. He didn't have a drop of empathy for her now. This was her fault, after all...how dare she cheat on him? She was just another person in a long line of people in Matt's life who wanted to make him miserable.

_How could you go...when you know I need you...to beat to a pulp on a saturday night..._

He let himself sink back into the couch...it felt great. He imagined her getting pushed off the grand canyon...eaten by the loch ness monster...anything he wanted. Any childish fantasy he might have right now, it just came right out.

There was something about being here, on this couch, that just made everything so much easier. He thought he could stay here forever. No society telling him what to do or think, just himself and his own wishes and beliefs.

And then, his state of mind was shattered. Suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore. He blinked, frozen for a split second, then jumped up and spun around in midair.

On the wall, next to the door he had come in through, was a large shadow. About ten feet tall. It clearly outlined a human figure, standing there, unmoving.

He was quite sure that this was Mary. It was somewhat nondescript, but the chest size, face structure, and scale size of the body looked like her. He spun around, looking for the figure creating the shadow, but found nothing. He turned back to the shadow, which hadn't moved.

"You think I won't come after him? You think I won't seek vengance? That's an unfortunate mistake on your part, love. I don't know who this guy is,, but I'll find out! You think I'll just shrug and move on? Watch me."

_Oooh Babe. How could you treat me this way? Running away..._

"And you won't be spared, either. I don't care if your a women, or that I once loved you. You've ruined my life, I won't forget that." He said raggedly, pointing his finger at the shadow.

Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the black mass morphed into a circle on the wall. Matt watched it closely, waiting for what would come next. Slowly, mechanically, a pair of reptillian legs sprouted out of the bottom of the circle. They grew towards the ground, until they were touching them.

The upper half of the circle morphed into what looked to be...perhaps a bowl, or cup. It was propped up on the two legs, rocking back and forth, rising up and down slightly as if breathing.

Suddenly, Matt had a rather nasty idea. Slowly, afraid to see what might be behind him, he turned around, following the tracks of the shadow. Whatever was causing that shadow appeared to be a unnatural, 15 foot tall monster.

Sure enough, behind him, the beast stood, sending it's shadow on the opposite wall. Matt began to back away, only to back right into the couch and fall back into the seat. He flipped over the back of the couch, landing on his feet, and continued to back away.

The monster began to approach him, slowly. Now that he saw it clearly, he...well...if he had to describe it...

It had two reptillian legs, and...

Well, it's upper half appeared to be...

A vagina.

It was the only way he could describe it. A fifteen foot tall, walking vagina.

_I need you, babe. Why are you running away?_

The massive vagina bent its upper half over, pointing itself towards Matt. Matt gulped, continued to slowly back away, and shut his eyes.

After a second, he opened his right eye open just a crack. He looked at the unsightly creature. Inside the bowl there was a collection of hair and a hole in the middle that seemed to go on to infinity.

And then, the creature unleashed a barrage of fire from the hole. It was heading straight for Matt.

Was this how it would end?

He waited several seconds, but did not feel the burning that usually came with fire. He felt nothing at all, actually.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

He was back in the bathroom. Looking up at the ceiling, into the bright light that made him squint. He felt his body, feeling bandages everywhere.

He propped himself up on his arms, shook his head violently, and slowly got to his feet.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He asked himself quietly, as he stood up and tested his balance. He started to lightly chuckle, thinking of the dream. He pounded down hard on the porcelain sink, laughing harder and harder.

And then, in an instant, he stopped. The joke was over. He was back in the real world, where everything was a complete mess.

Slowly, he began to walk out of the bathroom, his face a new mask of seriousness, knowing what now had to be done.

_Oooh, babe._


	12. Another Brick In The Wall Part Three

Chapter 12: Another Brick In The Wall Part Three

The hotel room was just as he had left it. A complete mess from the fight. As near as he could tell, no one had disturbed it. What kind of a country was this? He had thrown a dead women's corpse off a balcony into the street and it seemed nobody cared. Surely somebody had heard a great commotion in here, but it seemed nobody cared.

Just as well. It wasn't as if he was looking forward to explaining himself. He wasn't even sure he'd get out of this one.

Not that he particularly cared. Maybe he'd spend a few years in jail. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe there'd be a long legal process. If this world wanted to punish him for something that was his wife's fault, let them. This world had hurt him so much already, nothing they could do at this point would surprise him.

He walked into the center of the room. Had he ever gone on a crazy rampage! He saw the TV, broken beyond repair, in the kitchen. The recliner on the floor by the massive dent in the wall. The wall light fixture against the back wall. It was crazy.

And then, quite suddenly, the TV sprung to life. He couldn't make out any images on the screen, or any specific sounds, but saw the flashing lights on the projector and could hear abrasive crackling punctuated by the sound of a man with a deep voice talking. And then, it flicked off again, going dead. He continued to watch it warily.

It sprung to life again after a few seconds, flashing and babbling incoherantly. Of course...it was programmed to go to battery power if it got unplugged...but still, to survive such a beating...incredible!

_I don't need no arms around me_

And then, the babbling and flashing got suddenly very annoying. He stepped over to his colledction of guitars in the corner, not taking his eyes off the television, and gave a small growl before hurling one of his guitars at it.

Contact was made, and the two pieces of electronic equipment crashed into the wall across from Matt. But the TV would not die. So he threw another, and another, getting angrier and angrier each time he failed to destroy it.

And then, he was down to his last guitar. With a loud roar of rage, he grabbed it by the neck and charged over to where the television sat, among ruined guitars, still humming and crackling. As if an actual axe, he swung down hard at the television. He blew through the broken remains of the screen and bashed into the electronic inside workings. It gave off a final electronic gasp before shutting off for good.

Matt pulled the guitar back from the wreckage, and then proceeded to further mutilate the hunk of twisted metal by slamming into it again. Satisfied it would never wake up again, he picked up the bulk of it and ran towards the sliding door. He flung it out the broken door as hard as he could, sending it flying out into the air. He watched it fly above the streets, in an arc, slowly beginning a downward descent. Maybe it'd hit something valuable, or someone. It felt nice not giving a damn anymore. This world had never cared for him, why should he care for it?

_And I don't need no drugs to calm me_

He saw it slam into the street, bouncing along, causing cars to swerve and crash to avoid it. He turned back inside, knowing and not caring that this would be very hard to explain. He went up to his flipped over recliner and pushed it back up into a standing position. He fell back into it, letting his anger soak over him and into the comfort of the chair.

He had raged enough. It was time to move on. He could not stay angry forever, that would only serve to satisfy his ex-wife.

But he could not allow himself to be hurt again by this cruel, cruel world. It was trying to kill him, ruin him, reduce him to nothing.

No. He could never let anyone, or anything, into his heart again.

He had to protect himself.

He closed his eyes and reached into his mind. He imagined himself building a shield around himself. One of brick and mortar. No one could ever get through this barrier. Never again would he be hurt by an insensitive person, because he would never allow anyone to get close enough for such a thing.

And when he got there, inside his brain, he found that his imaginary Wall had already been built. It was...almost done, just needed a few more holes filled...one more section to fill out, and that'd be that.

_I have seen the writing on the wall_

He never really knew that so much of the barrier was already up. He knew he had taken...measures to try to avoid getting hurt any more than he already had, but he never knew he had gone so far.

But he didn't stop to think about it. He just went about the business of completing it.

He looked closely at some of the individual bricks. Yup, just as suspected. One was engraved with the picture of a fighter plane, pointing downwards, smoke and flames rising from it's body. He ran his fingers over the ridges that made up the imprint.

He looked at another. Just as he suspected. His mother's standing there, holding her two hands up to her chin and smiling. He touched it again, feeling the imprint.

Another had a trio of older people, standing there, their upper halves all that was showing. They looked quite serious and disdainful. He recognized them as a trio of teachers had had at the boarding school.

And another had, of course, his adulterous wife. He saw her standing there, almost looking smug and happy at his misfortune. On the other side of the brick, he saw the vagina monster as well.

This wall had been constructed out of the people and events in his life that had hurt him so. He had built it without even knowing it to this point.

Good.

_Don't think I need anything at all_

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, taking him out of his mental fantasy and back into the real world.

No matter. It was almost done anyway. It would finish on it's own if need be.

The door to the room swung open. Matt didn't even look over. All he heard was someone yell "Oh, fuck me!" And then run into the room. He heard him walking through the room, looking at the damage, clearly unhappy.

And then, he felt the man go right up next to him. "What the hell just happened then?"

Matt finally turned to look upon a middle aged, bearded, well-dressed man, red in the face and sweating already from the stress of having one of his rooms ruined.

_No! Don't think I'll need anything at all!_

"Well, it's kind of embarrassing-"

"Do I care? No! Out with it!"

"Calm down, man. I'm good for it. You know who I am?"

"Oh. Right. Matt. It's you." He began to regain his composure. "I'm sure you're good for it, b-but I need to know what happened."

"Well, I took one of the chickies up here for a good time, you know? But goddamn was she hepped up on...something. Terrible waste of a person I'm afraid. She was going batshit, and at some point..." he slowly pointed towards the balcony.

_All in all it was all just bricks in the wall_

"Yes, yes. Nasty business. Sorry you had to go through all of that." I got the word from the paramedics outside about the body, and I've been looking for the room it came from for the last half an hour!"

Matt looked up at the ceiling. "I'm really in for it, aren't I? Should have just knocked her out-"

"Yes. Yes, Matt. Tricky business, our law system can be. Well, usually."

Matt looked back at the man. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not from these parts, so you wouldn't know...that girl is a famed troublemaker in this town. Sleeps around with everyone, does all sorts of drugs, everything in the book...I don't think you'll have too much of a problem."

"Excellent." Matt leaned back. "I'll take care of the mess, you can feel free to leave."

"You better not, some of the coppers want to take some pictures." He replied. "I'm just gonna stay up here...nothing against you, I just want this thing to go smoothly in the legal department."

Matt nodded and closed his eyes. He had unfinished business anyway.

_All in all you were all just bricks in the wall..._


	13. Goodbye Cruel World

Chapter 13: Goodbye Cruel World

He took one final look out into the outside world. Not that there was much to see, everything was dark and mysterious. In his immediate surroundings he could make out the strangest objects. A paper kite shaped like Charlie Chaplin being chased by a horde of bees, a percent symbol attempting to dig to China with a rabbit foot, and other such ridiculous things.

Things he'd never understand. Not ever.

Abruptly, he pulled back and paved some concrete in a open segment of the wall he was looking through, then began to lay bricks again.

No, he'd never understand any of it. He didn't need to.

He turned around and looked behind him. Within his constructed barrier of bricks, everything made perfect sense to Matt. He knew it as he knew the back of his hand, and knew they would never hurt him. How could these completely ordinary objects ever harm him?

There was a two story house, pure white, with five windows and a door on the front. The roof was slanted, and a pathway through a green lawn with short leaf bushes on either side. It was as ordinary a house as you could ever find, even more boring than the ones kids in kindergarten would draw.

Inside the house, Matt knew, was exactly what anyone would expect a house to have, from the frying pan to the ironing board, it was all wonderfully ordinary and boring. Just what he wanted.

_Goodbye Cruel World, I'm leaving you today._

He turned back around, facing the wall, which was very nearly complete. A lifetime of slowly working on it was about to pay dividends. Now the strange things and mystery of the outside world would never bother him again. His barrier, borne of his pain caused by others, would protect him from everything.

He slapped more liquid concrete on the edges of the gap infront of him, then pushed in another brick. It was boring, tedious, hard work, but it was well worth what would be achieved when he was done.

He looked to his left and saw a casper-esque ghost trying to push it's way through another one of the gaps in the wall, desparately trying to squeeze in before it was complete.

"Aw, shit." He picked up his trowel and marched evenly over to the ghost-like figure. "Beat it, will you?" He began waving the metal tool at the ghost as he approached, beating it back.

"Matt, don't you want to know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall? Or what Mean Mister Mustard keeps up his nose? For god sakes, let me in!"

Matt flung the tool at it's head, and the figure had the unfortunate luck of not being a ghost. Meaning the tool hit him square in the head. Matt came up and finished by kicking him back into the outside world. Quickly, he put some concrete in the hole and sealed it.

"Shut you up." He muttered as he moved on.

_Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye._

How had it come to be that there were so many one-brick gaps in the wall? This wasn't a productive or smart way to build a wall...leaving that many holes really risked its integrity. Then again, he couldn't even consciously recall building a vast majority of this wall...it had just happened.

He took a deep breath, continuing the arduous process of bricklaying. It's a good thing he wasn't a laborer, he was sure he could never take it. But he could tolerate it, just this once.

He filled another gap, and then another right by it, with the same boring process of slapping concrete within it and then placing a brick in the hole.

And then, there were only three left, placed in a triangle formation in the same area. Just a few feet from each other. This would be easy. He saw the trifeckta just a dozen or so paces from his spot. He began the trek.

He could recall every detail of his life at this moment. It was so very clear. He could even picture, in his mind, things that happened before he was borne. He could see, in his mind's eye, his father falling to earth in a burning plane, his death warrant signed by the country he thought he loved.

His mother, always there for him-too often there for him. Always hovering, always giving advice that was meant to be taken as directions, always...there. She had hurt him a million times, in ways that went deeper than any other kind of hurt.

His teachers, oh how cruel they were, trying to mold him into a person acceptable in society, conforming exactly to the ideals of how people believed everyone should be, allowing no creativity.

And his adulterous wife, who somehow got the idea that cheating on him wouldn't hurt him because he didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve, which never would have happened if it wasn't for everyone else previous in his life. It was a big domino effect, and it was now at an end.

_Goodbye all you people, there's nothing you can say to make me change my mind._

He stood before the three holes, and began to fill them, the weight of his actions beginning to come down on him.

He put some concrete into the first gap from the left, scraping it on the inside walls of the hole, then shoved a brick in, fitting it nicely, like a glove. Nothing would get through that.

He could almost feel his mind, body and soul getting cut off as he applied concrete to the middle hole, paving it around until it was everywhere. Then, another brick went in. How close he was now, only one tiny hole was between him and complete, perfect isolation.

"Is this really what you want?" Came a voice from just outside. He bent down slightly to peer through the red and white wall, through the final gap in it. The final imperfection.

The ghost-like figure was back, floating gloomily there in front of the hole. "Are you really sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Now leave and never return, there's nothing for you here."

He began to apply the concrete, slowly but surely wiping it around until he was satisfied.

"Are you entirely sure that-"

He picked up the 3rd brick, and slowly pushed it into the gap, rubbing it with the concrete, which slowly began the hardening process that would seal him in and everything else out.

And then, it was done.

_Goodbye._


	14. Hey You

Chapter 14: Hey You

"So we can't help but wonder when you're actually going to...get something down." Charles inquired. "You have a commitment, you know, and we're very eager to hear what you have planned." He was seated on a black wooden chair, the back made of crisscrossed rope and the bottom a wicker tile, both of which groaned and flexed under his weight. The chair was digging into the wooden planks just a few feet in front of the lime green couch Matt was lying on. The troubled musician's body was facing the back of the couch, his posterior all that Charles could see.

Matt didn't even move to acknowledge Charles speaking. He remaining lying on the couch.

"You okay, man?"

"You tell me." He finally said, rubbing his face hard with his hands.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charles asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matt rolled his head over to look at Charles, his eyes red and drooping. Charles was a walking, talking rail, unlikely to tip the scales at over 130 pounds inspite of being close to six feet tall. His brown hair was cut very close to his head, just perhaps slightly longer than a peach fuzz would be, and his face was long and slender like a horse. He wore an annoying hawaii-patterned jacket and khaki pants that hurt Matt's eyes. "I dunno. Look, I'll...have something by the end of the month. I guess. Something."

"You need some sleep...something, I dunno. Lay off the drinks or yeyo or whatever it is you're on...and what the hell is up with this room?" He motioned around him with his arms wildly. "Nothing matches, these weirdass chairs suck-" he jumped off the one he was sitting on "-I mean, what'd you do?"

Matt rubbed his eyes and rolled his head back over slowly, looking for all the world like an undead zombie. "Can you leave?"

Charles shrugged. "I guess, but...you know where this road leads, don't you? I've seen it happen all too often, I know you know about it." He squared his body up to the front door. "I'm here for you...you just gotta say something."

_"Talk to him, dumbass! Talk to him!"_ He could hear his sensible side command. But that part of him had been ignored for so long he barely even paid it any attention. He heard the thumping footsteps get quieter and quieter, then the soft click of the door opening. A moment later, it shut, and scream his sensible side might, he didn't so much as grunt.

_Hey you, out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me?_

Matt pounded his fists repeatedly on the bricks of the wall, at first with the outer ends, then with his knuckles boxer style.

"I know you can hear me you jackass!" He screamed into the wall. "Open your fucking mouth and say something!"

"Actually, he can't hear you." Matt turned around on his heel in a flash, spotting Matt, casually reading a newspaper, sitting on a blue beach chair.

"What do you want?" Matt spat, his mouth curling into a grimace.

"Well, I wanted to watch you make a jackass out of yourself further...but it's getting old."

"He can hear me too!" Matt shouted, pointing out wildly towards the wall.

Matt rolled his eyes, then set them back on the paper. "Okay, fine. He can hear you, he just won't...listen to you. Happy?"

Matt growled, then turned back to the wall and punched it again. "GOD dammit!"

"Hey, you built this damn thing!" Matt gestured at the wall. "You knew what it would do when you built it. Hell, that's why you built it! And, jesus christ, how hard is it to know what it's gonna do anyway? It's a **wall!** What do walls do? Keeps things in and other things out." He shook his head slowly and went back to his paper.

"It was a mistake." Matt growled, now pouncing his palm against the bricks. "I-I was in pain, I was sick and tired of getting hurt, I thought-"

"Well, that's just a shame." Matt said casually. "Regardless, thanks to your little project, the big guy up there-" he pointed up into the air "-could give two shits about what you think."

Matt looked down at the ground, his mouth twitching at the edges. And then, he slammed his palm hard against the wall again. "Fuck!"

_Hey you, standing in the aisles, with itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me?_

Matt stared up into the ceiling, counting the tiny dents created by the stucco styling. It wasn't much, but he'd rather do that than pay attention to this damn quack.

"-seen many different people of your public stature, some even in the very same line of work as you, so I know what I'm talking about. Now, your wife left you...six months ago. So your bout of depression is expected. What disturbs me is how your schedule hasn't altered in the slightest. Your concerts and shows go on as planned, without any deviations, and when your label approaches you about making a new song or working on a new album, you always answer the call immediately."

"So I do my job." Matt spread his hands out to his sides. "Is there something wrong with that now? I've gotten over my wife, and now I'm just trying to make a living doing what I love. When my fans expect me to perform, I perform. When my record label expects me to produce, I produce. What's the problem?"

"Well..." Matt didn't even know what she looked like yet. He had been curled up on his couch, staring at the ceiling, since she came in a few minutes ago and hadn't even bothered to glance. For all he knew it was a man with a high-pitched voice. He thought about extending that courtesy now, but rather "...your wife left you abruptly, and you found out in what definitely qualifies as the hard way. That should make you depressed, it's perfectly normal."

"Okay. But I got over it, why is this so hard? What, you've never met a rock star who isn't completely dominated by his emotions?"

"But the drinking and obvious lack of sleep indicate...something is wrong. And the drugs-"

"I didn't do it, nobody saw me do it, and nobody can prove that I did it." Matt droned, covering his face with his arms.

"I'm not here to judge, Matt. I know what you do as often as three times a week, and frankly, I don't care. The point is, something's wrong. You're destroying your body, and are well on pace to destroy your life, and you certainly have good reason to be depressed and angry...but on the flipside, your musical career hasn't suffered the slightest. It doesn't line up."

_Hey you, don't help them to bury the light._

_"Say something, you dipshit! This wall will not come down without outside help, and your clearly not the person to do it! Now say something!"_ He felt the voice of reason screech from deep within. But he could not bring himself to listen to it. After all, to open up to this psycho-quack would be to let somebody into his mind, body, and soul. And he could never dare attempt such a thing again.

"I'm doing what I want, alright?" Matt finally said quickly and explosively. "I'm going to die young no matter what I do, so I should at least have a good time while I'm here! There will be plenty of time to sleep and detox when I'm dead! I just happen to..._love _music, is all it means. Can you please leave, there's nothing to discuss."

"Typical rock star mentality." She mumbled. He heard something that could have been a pen writing on a piece of paper.

"Yes! I'm just your stereotypical rock star, who figures to have a stereotypical rock star life. So could you please?" He motioned to his upper left, towards the door.

He heard further footsteps, getting quieter and quieter, the door clicking open, and then swinging shut. His wall was standing stout.

_Don't give in, without a fight._

"My entire family likes your music, Mister Matt." Susie continued, sitting in his lap as he sat in his trailer on the recliner. "It brings us together, it's got something for all tastes."

"Mmmm, that's nice." He said quietly. He was paying the fifteen-year old girl the courtesy of actually looking at her right off the bat. After all, she was an innocent girl who probably spent hundreds of dollars on Matt's albums, Matt band posters, Matt lunchboxes, or whatever else she could get her materialistic hands on. Plus, tonight's show and the backstage passes could put the number in the thousands, and Matt wasn't about to raise an issue with someone contributing to his bottom line so well.

"I'm the biggest fan of all though. Not just in my family, I'm talking about my entire town! We had a contest to see who was your biggest fan, and I won by having all your song lyrics memorized, having all your past, current, and future tour dates memorized, and then playing the riff from 'You Can't Do That' from memory."

"Wow, that's...impressive." Matt said passively, honestly not caring.

"I love you." She said out of nowhere. "What that old wife did to you was terrible...who could do something like that? Especially to someone like you." Suddenly, she leaned in, her nose just inches before his. "I'd never dream of something like that...we should get hitched. It'd be great, I'd worship the ground you walked on. Unlike that whore."

"Now I let you sit in my lap for free." Matt said matter-of-factly, waving his right index finger in the air. "That right there's gonna cost you something."

"Nice to dream though, isn't it?" She waxed. "We'd make a fine couple."

_Hey you! Out there on your own, sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me?_

Matt couldn't help but internally agree. Though she was a mere fifteen years old, she could have passed for eighteen or twenty with her developed busom and other well-placed sensual curves. Inspite of the cold weather tonight, she was wearing a white tanktop with pink shoulder straps and white frill around the edges, gray shorts that did nothing to hide her thighs, and blue flip-flops. She was the kind of girl Matt might think about while rubbing his ham, certainly, but there was nothing real to develop here.

"I guess." He mumbled. "Okay, you've got another fifteen minutes in here...anything you wanna do? I could play something, you could touch my guitars...I dunno."

"I just wanna talk." She said. "About...whatever. There's so much I do know about you...through the internet, television, all that. But there's also alot I don't know. Alot I want to know." She pulled back from his face finally, leaning back against the armrest. "What makes Matt Yamoto tick? I know what you rock stars do and go through, how do you cope with all of it?"

_"She's perfect! Talk to her, asshole! She'll listen! You're a god to her, if she thinks something's wrong she'll call the national fucking guard! Talk!" _He heard the ever-nagging voice demand. But he wasn't about to start listening to it now.

"Oh...you know, it's not so bad. You get used to it. I'm always tired and never quite clear in the head, but after awhile it creates a nice buzz. I'm perfectly happy as I am, doing what I love. I'm past the breakup and all that, I just want to make music." Matt recited, a speech he often gave to fans who wanted to 'know more about him.'

"You think you might ever remarry?" She asked. "Just curious."

"Oh...maybe." _"Yeah right, this asshole isn't even capable of love anymore, I would fucking know!"_

_Hey you! With your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out, would you touch me?_

"It must have hurt you...so much." She said, touching his chest, feeling it's sinewy muscles through his white shirt and green jacket. "I wouldn't blame you if you never remarried."

_"I would."_ Came the voice, yet again. It was more annoying than ever today.

"But is there anymore to it? I mean, you must be a wonderfully complex person..." She continued to lightly rub his chest. "I'm here to listen. Whatever you wanna talk about, no matter how boring it may seem, I want to hear it."

Matt shrugged. "I'm just your run-of-the-mill rocker, I'm afraid. Nothing to talk about here. Trust me, there's not a whole lot going on in here." He reached up with his left index finger and pointed at his temple.

"Alright then. Can I touch your guitars?" She asked, looking over in the corner towards the expensive instruments.

"Be my guest. You can play em if you want, just be careful." He pushed the small girl off his lap and leaned back in the chair, watching her run off towards the guitars. "I played the red one at Belgium with Tom Petty and John Mayer. They all touched it and played it, very cool stuff."

"Awesome!" She ran up to and violently grabbed the one he spoke of, sitting down on the floor and propping it un her lap. "This is the best birthday ever!"

"Glad you like it, darling." Matt said quietly.

_Hey you! Would you help me to carry the stone? Open your heart, I'm comin' home._

"God!" Matt screamed, pounding on the wall again. "Why did I build this fucking thing?!" He began to pace back and forth on the ground in front of the wall, trying to find some weak point. "I know you can hear me, now pay attention!" He kicked the wall hard, but nothing gave.

"Why would he ever pay attention to you?" Matt asked, standing behind him, hands in his pockets, watching with bemused interest. "Because you asked?"

"I am a DAMN important part of his psyche, and he god damn well knows it! He can't just lock me up and ignore me-"

"You locked yourself up. Not that I blame you, if I fucked the big guy up so much with my ideas I'd probably just off myself."

"I did it in the heat of the moment! It was a mistake, and I know he-" he pointed up into the air "-knows it!"

"Heat of the moment my ass. You've been working on this thing for the better part of two decades! And it's very nice, might I add. Now why don't you go back inside. And change your clothes or something, you smell like shit."

Matt put his hands violently in his pockets, his face an ugly grimace, and he walked off towards the small house in the middle of his domed wall.

_But it was only fantasy. The wall was too high as you can see. No matter how he tried he could not break free. And the worms ate into his brain._

"I wouldn't mind seeing 'I Feel Fine' moved to eight, I think. It sort of fits better in that order in terms of tempo and style. You start off with the slow stuff, move to the faster stuff near the end..." Robert was explaining, as they looked at the list of songs in front of them.

"I disagree." Bob began. "Well, the general idea works, but I like the idea of starting slow, then fast, then have the last song be slow. It's a nice way to end things, back to the way it started. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, but...that's a good idea and all, but it doesn't fit in with this particular album. We need to end with a bang."

"We need a tiebreaker then." He looked at Matt, slumped over in his small chair. "Are you going to say something? What do you think?"

Matt looked at Robert, then Bob, slowly moving his eyes from one to the other. "I don't really care, why don't you two do rock paper scissors for it?"

"You're joking, right?" Bob asked, his eyes squinted. "This is your birthchild, you did all that work on this, and you leave the song order up to fate? If you don't know, we can give you time, you know."

"No. No, it's not just that I don't know. I just honestly don't care. I trust you two, pick whatever you want and I'll be fine.

"This isn't like you at all, Matt." Robert said slowly. "You alright."

"Sure I'm alright. I'm better than usual, really. I put too much pressure on myself in this business, I need to just kick back and relax about this stuff sometimes."

_"Even you should be smart enough to know that when you don't care about music it's only getting worse!"_

_Hey you! Out there on the road, always doing what you're told, can ya help me?_

"I've been listening to your stuff when they release it over here in Japan. It takes awhile sometimes, but I love it!" Nancy said through the phone connection. "I sort of thought it wouldn't be my type, but I end up enjoying it alot."

"Good to hear." Matt said back into the receiver, sitting on the floor, his knees up against his chin, the phone just barely hanging onto his ear.

"You should really come and visit sometime, I haven't seen you in years." His mother said.

"I'm always busy, mom. This is a rough business, I can't just go to Japan for no particular reason. Give me a few more years to establish a truly legendary band, then I can do whatever I want. You should come over here sometime."

"Oh, honey...I can't travel, you know that. You know, me and planes...doesn't work."

"Take a boat-"

"Oh, hell no!" She hissed. "Not on your life, I'm not setting foot on one of those things."

"Alright, well...I'll see if I can't get some sort of plan for a trip to Japan in the works. No promises, but we'll see."

"Alright. Are you doing alright, I know the rock star life can be tough."

"Oh..." Matt toyed with the thought of spilling his heart out, but then reverted back to a well practiced script. "it's not easy, but I'm doing fine. I love my life and my job. I couldn't be happier. And it's only getting better." He looked at his golden rolex. "Gotta go."

"Okay. If you're quite sure, because if something's wrong..."

Matt quickly hung up and threw the phone across the room. He pushed himself up off the floor, shaking his head back and forth.

_Hey you! Out there beyond the wall, breaking bottles in the hall, can ya help me?_

"He is never, going, to, listen, to, you!" Matt hissed, watching Matt continue to scream into the wall. "Shut up, alright? You're starting to ruin my eardrums." His head went back down to the rubix cube in his hands, his fingers twisting and spinning it.

"This is wrong, okay? This is wrong!" Matt yelled back. "He's out there acting like a stupid prat, and it's all because he's ignoring me!"

"It's not his fault." Matt said casually, not taking his focus off the cube. "It's everyone elses. If his dad didn't die, if his mom wasn't a bitch, yadda yadda, none of this would have happened."

"We don't know that!" Matt yelled, pointing at the wall violently. "Maybe-"

"Maybe nothing. You're stuck here, and nothing you do can change that. May as well live with it. Now check these cube things out, they're actually alot of fun...I haven't solved one yet, but I think I'm getting close. Pick one up sometime, ya know."

"This is serious!" Matt yelled, pounding his fists into the wall again. "If I don't figure this out, who knows what's gonna happen-"

"Nothing to figure out. The big guy has to figure it out for himself, nothing you can do. At least from inside here."

"Never gonna happen." Matt shoved his fists inside his pockets. "Goddammit."

_Together we stand. Divided we fall..._

_we fall_

_we fall_

_we fall_


	15. Is there anybody out there?

Chapter Fifteen: Is There Anybody Out There?

The last several hours were lost to him. Trying to recall what had happened felt like trying to catch a bullet in his teeth. It wasn't happening, and it hurt to try.

But there were plenty of clues. The hotel room looked like a landfill. He didn't even want to try guessing how a raccoon corpse and a dozen keys from a grand piano had gotten in here. Beyond that, dozens of soda cans, various items of clothing, broken glass, snack food bags, pieces of airplane models, pokemon cards, and a plethora of further items he couldn't bother to list covered the room. He couldn't even make out the floor through the clutter. The countertop in the kitchen, coffee table in the living room, and all six chairs were covered as well. The TV was broken, the fridge had been opened and pushed over, and the bathroom door had been ripped off it's hinges.

For some reason, Matt didn't care. While he never cared about trashing a place thanks to his oversized bank account, under normal conditions he'd certainly wonder why he couldn't recall ever doing this. But inspite of his inability to recall this incident, he didn't think twice.

"Huh." Was all he had to say. And then, simply because he felt like doing so, he reached up for the collar of his T-shirt and began ripping downwards, exposing his well-built chest. When the tear in the shirt went all the way down, he shrugged it off his body along with his black jacket. In a quick ripping motion, he pulled down on his grey jeans and boxers until they were at his ankles, then kicked them off. He was naked now.

He threw himself down on the assorted trinkets that covered the floor, then rolled around on the carpet, back and forth, until he had cleared a spot on the floor, free of garbage.

He pushed himself up on his arms, looking down at the space he had created. Slowly, he rolled over to the edge of his haven and grabbed a pair of coke cans.

He went back to the middle of the bare batch and set one down, standing up, then the other on top of it. He looked around at the garbage, locating other soda cans within the mess. Carefully, he walked through the assorted trash, bending down every few steps to pick up another can.

_Is there anybody out there?_

He looked at his creation proudly. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he was much more at peace with this three foot monolith of soda cans in the middle of the room. Built like a pyramid, starting thick at the bottom and slowly narrowing to the top, it had taken several dozen soda cans to make.

Then, his eyes fell on the chaos around him, and he again felt a strange urge overtake him.

He had to obey it. To disobey would destroy him, he felt sure.

Slowly, he moved to his right, bending down to the level of the trash. He grabbed a wing from the airplane model, and carefully set it just a few inches within the borders of his bare patch, parallel to the border itself.

---

-the southern line was complete thanks to that red striped tie...what else was there he could-

---

-just a few more items left, maybe that broken handbell and bicycle handle-

---

-pencils could make the northwest square, and then-

---

-three more marbles would complete the-

---

-where did the iron go-

---

_Is there anybody out there?_

Matt stood back, looking the once-bare patch of carpet. It had now become the most organized pile of garbage in all of human history. The tower of cans stood proudly. A line made of various objects encircled everything, all around the borders. He had placed shapes in every corner made of garbage. A circle to the southeast, square to the northwest, triangle to the southwest, and overal to the northeast. Given they were made of garbage, they were exceedingly well-formed.

Within each shape, there was a tower of small objects. A stack of buttons he ripped off shirts in the circle, a pile of broken glass in the square, and random assorted items in the triangle and oval.

He felt good. As if he had just created a great work of art. The towers, the symbols, all of it coming together to form a masterpiece. It's existence seemed to put his mind at ease.

He looked around at the rest of the garbage. There was still enough to sink the Titanic, or so it felt.

It wouldn't do at all.

He walked over towards the corner, standing in the middle of the junk, and bent down to scoop up an armful. Trash in hand, he walked towards the balcony door. The glass barrier having long since been smashed to bits, Matt stepped through the empty frame, into the outside.

Several stories up, over New York City, Matt went up to the edge of the balcony and tossed his armful over. He watched it fall, some objects floating, others sinking. Either way, every item eventually hit the sidewalk and street below, causing chaos for the pedistrians and drivers.

Matt had only just begun.

He wanted all of it gone, cast down below.

All of it.

_Is there anybody out there?_

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Matt stood in the bathroom, looking at himself in the strangely unharmed mirror. He was still naked, and was viewing his entire body.

He felt compelled to shave, for reasons beyond his understanding. He sported a small stubble, true, but any other time he'd ignore such a shadow.

Nevertheless, he grabbed the can of shaving cream and shook it violently in his right hand. He sprayed some blue gel into his left hand, quickly slapping it and rubbing it all over his lower face.

But he wasn't satisfied. Not yet. He sprayed a heaping amount into his palm. He looked down at his body slowly, then without warning, began to rub it all over his torso, arms, and legs.

Again, he came back to the can for more, lathering it into his palm, this time just a small amount. He rubbed it in above his eyes, covering his eyebrows.

Finally, he grabbed the razor and began slowly scraping it down his cheek. It felt cold, not like he usually shaved, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Slowly, he did his entire face, then moved to his chest and stomach. Every centimeter of his body was closely scraped for hairs, leaving no folicle unmolsested. His arms and armpits fell under the wrath of the blade next. His crotch and legs were the last victim. Except for the very top of his head, there wasn't a single hair on him.

But still, Matt wasn't done with his makeover. He reached down onto the sinktop, his hands grasping an electronic razor. With shaking hands, he plugged it into the wall socket, then brang it to life with his thumb on the switch.

Slowly, as it threateningly buzzed in his hand, he brought it up to his head.

He ran it down the center of his head, from forehead to the back, creating a stripe of baldness around the otherwise healthy, thick mane. Like a machine, he ran it down the rows of his head, throwing more clumps of blonde hair to the bathroom floor.

A minute passed, and the job was done. He glared at his hairless head for a moment, recalling every praise his blonde locks had ever received in an instant. Then, he slowly marched to the bathroom door.

He walked over the threshhold, over the fallen bathroom door. Matt had walked in, Matt had walked out. And yet, two completely different characters were at play in the two scenarios. He was sure.

_Is there anybody out there?_


	16. Nobody Home

Chapter Sixteen: Nobody Home

Matt said, outwardly at peace, back in the recliner in the middle of the hotel room. Just a week had passed since the shaving incident, so he was still as hairless as a naked mole rat. He was shaving his beard everyday now, to hold back the small stubble that would otherwise build up.

He had been sitting here all night, pondering everything. He could barely hear the voice now. The one constantly commanding him to seek out help, to talk to someone. He was quite certain it would soon completely go away.

However, for the moment, it remained, continually reminding him that he was a dumbass who made a stupid mistake. And at the moment, he was pondering this very thing.

Slowly, as if he was carrying the weight of the world, he reached up with his right hand into his left jacket pocket and pulled out a small black book. He couldn't help but smile to himself. He remembered getting caught with this small object many times in school and then being chastised. Now, for millions of people, this book was like a god. And he, Matt, was Metatron, who spoke for this idol.

The neverending irony that represented his entire life.

_I've got a little black book with my poems in...got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in..._

He began randomly opening to various pages, his eyes flashing over the writing, not really taking in anything. He had long since memorized anything that was written in it, but looking through it was somehow comforting to him.

It reminded him of everything he had. And in turn, everything he didn't have.

He thought of his swiss bank account, the piles on piles of money that could easily support him for the rest of his life if he wanted. That was awful nice. Complete security.

He shot a quick glance down at the golden rolex on his wrist, the diamonds within the watch face glinting. Only twenty had been made, and had been distributed to the twenty greatest "young and upcoming" musicians of the day several years ago.

Slowly, he opened the small book to a back page and began to remove a pen from the right side of his jacket. After unsheathing it with his teeth and spitting the cap onto the hotel room floor, he began to print, in capital bold letters, **Swiss Bank Account.**

He put the pen inbetween his lips, chewing on the butt end. Slowly, he came back down onto the piece of paper and wrote a dash to the right of the three words, then wrote out $**38,000,000.**

He moved down to the next line, and continuing the pattern of bold, printed letters, wrote **Limited Edition Rolex.**

He looked up from the piece of paper and looked behind him, at the quartet of red and black guitars on mounts behind him. He glanced up at the ceiling, thinking for a second. Then, he plopped back down, swallowed, and smartly printed **Twenty-Three Guitars.**

_When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in...I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on..._

He wasn't totally sure that was accurate. Who gave a damn? That was alot of guitars, and being off by a couple wouldn't change that.

He bit his tongue lightly, then moved to the next line and wrote **15,000 square foot residence - California.** Wasting no time, he slammed the ink tip onto the next line and wrote **5,000 square foot residence - Paris.**

On a roll, he could almost feel his mind inflate with each passing letter. Perhaps he'd be able to inflate the depression right out. Moving along, he printed out **Eleven Luxury Cars,** then **Six Golden Records, **followed by **Contract with Apple, **and **Twenty Six Million Adoring Fans.**

He was beginning to sweat, a cockeyed grin returning to his features. He could go on forever. He could fill a thousand notebooks with all of his possessions. Just reading this gave a lift to his spirits. The wall didn't matter. His mom didn't matter, his dad, his teachers, his ex-wife...it didn't matter. He had achieved the American dream times a thousand!

He had become bigger then any of the dominant figures in his earlier life. To him, they had become-

He blinked hard a couple of times. Then, with a sudden jerking motion, he ripped the piece of paper from the pad and crumpled it up into a ball, then threw it across the room.

_Got those swollen hand blues...I've got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from..._

He sighed deeply, leaning his head back into the reclining chair. He placed the pen and notebook in his lap and ran his fingers over his bald head. He stared up into the whitewashed ceiling for a few minutes, trying to recall the few moments of happiness he had just had.

As false and as fake as they were, they were something.

He slowly brought his head back down to a normal angle. He saw the remote control on the right armrest of the chair. He pounded his index finger on the power button, springing the television a few feet away to life. It was a small set, but high quality, and from this difference it wasn't terribly relevant.

A pair of people clad in military uniforms, bearing a collection of badges and medals, were having a discussion over a wooden desk. The Dambusters. He had seen this movie before. He loved it, in fact. He loved military movies, oddly enough. Of just about any sort.

A guilty pleasure he couldn't stand, as he blamed the military for everything bad in his life. At least as a starting point. He quickly pecked the 'Channel Up' button, causing the channel to flip to some infomercial for a juicer. He pecked again, finding what appeared to be a soap opera in a language he didn't understand. Again, he pecked, each push getting more and more forced.

Little League Baseball...Shopping Channel...Rerun of _The Shield_...The Dambusters...

Matt flinched. It was on again, on another channel. He glanced down at the remote, then at the television. It was definitely the same movie, but at a different point, much later in the movie.

_I've got electric light...and I've got second sight...i've got amazing powers of observation._

He began to press the remote harder and faster. Dog show...Music Video of some My Chemical Romance song...Anime...

To his abject horror, The Dambusters was on yet another channel. Everything about this movie, as much as he usually loved it, made him think of his dead father. The military lingo, the military clothing, the war, the planes, the guns...his mouth twitched and he hit the remote again.

Some new sitcom..._Men in Black_...Cirque Del Soleil...why couldn't he settle on something? At least it wouldn't be The Dambusters...shaving cream commercial...some kids' show...

And there it was again. He swallowed some bile down hard, then attempted to take a deep, relaxing breath. Somehow, within perhaps not even twenty channel, The Dambusters had come up four times. It was following him, driving him to insanity. What was this madness? No movie was shown on four channels at once!

He used his fist to pound on the remote, which hit the power button and turned the television off. He shook his head, which had obtained even more sweat during the television ordeal.

He'd have to talk to a couple station owners, perhaps the hotel manager, about this. It wasn't normal, and he wasn't particularly thrilled about it. Someone needed to pay.

_And that is how I know...when I try to get through...on the telephone to you...there will be nobody home..._

He picked the pen and pad of paper back up again, and turned to another fresh page.

What was he doing? Making a list of things he had...that didn't do him any good.

He needed something else. Something more meaningful.

Without hesitation, he began to scribble on the first line of the page. Just four simple letters, the meaning behind them as simple as they came.

**Love.**

Matt swallowed some bile down, feeling his heart pump faster as he stared at the one simple word.

He must have been feeling truly sadistic, because he continued to write. He didn't even have to think to continue onto the next line.

**Friendship.**

How seemingly weightless and simple these things were. But, it was only now, he realized how much he needed them.

And they were things he did not have.

And could never have, ever again.

_I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm...and the inevitable pinhole burns...all down the front of my favorite satin shirt._

What else was there?

Well, of course.

**Sanity.**

He certainly didn't have any of that anymore.

**Happiness.**

He couldn't even remember ever being happy.

**Humanity.**

Just short, one word statements that individually weighed more than his first list combined. That was all.

He could feel his right eye twitching. This list was angering him. But he hated himself, and continued on, almost masochistially.

**Wisdom.**

Well, he obviously wasn't smart. He did build the wall, after all.

_I've got nicotine stains on my fingers...I've got a silver spoon on a chain...I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains..._

He set the pad and pen back down into his lap, and grasped the armrests of the chair. His knuckles turned white as his fingers curled around the ends, and he began to quake slightly. He was glancing down at the list he had made, trying to destroy it with his mind. But, as many things he attempted to do with his mind did, this didn't work at all.

His mouth curled into an ugly grimace, the anger in his belly rising.

And then, the television flipped on, exhibiting a scene from The Dambusters. Matt froze in his chair, then slowly looked down at his right hand.

The index finger was hovering right over the power button. He could feel, from the warmth at the tip of the finger, that he had definitely pressed it.

Yet, he had certainly not wanted to. It was the last thing he truly wanted to do. His brow lowered over his eyes as he raised his fist to beat upon the remote.

The sound of a dog barking from the television caused him to pause.

He knew this movie very well. He knew why the dog was there.

But he felt compelled to watch this.

A large black dog was wandering about a large airbase. Men of the air force were walking about, ignoring the presense of the dog even as it ran about, constantly turning around, obviously lost. It ran up and down the runways, over grassy lawns, and attempted to enter various buildings.

_I've got wild staring eyes...and I've got a strong urge to fly...but I've got nowhere to fly to..._

Matt knew what was happening, of course. He had seen it too many times not to. The dog was the pet of one of the fighter pilots on the airbase. The pilot was currently away on an air raid, and as such, the dog was wandering about.

He often wandered, but without his master around, he was now lost.

He had no guidance, and was confronted only by strangers who told him to 'beat it' or 'get lost', that he shouldn't be here.

That's exactly what everyone did to the poor dog.

Matt swallowed hard, knowing what was coming very soon.

A few moments later, Matt squeezed his eyes shut as the sound of an officer's car slamming into the dog poured forth from the speakers. He looked in time to see the dog lying on the ground in a great deal of pain from the accident, and a very concerned officer jumping out of the car to tend to it.

He watched for several minutes as everyone gathered around the large black dog, checking to see if he was alright.

But he wasn't. Matt watched as the dog's eyes closed and it was declared dead by the surrounding pilots.

Everyone was very sad. Only in death did the dog receive any semblance of respect from these people.

_Ooooh, Babe when I pick up the phone...there's still nobody home..._

Matt looked down at the list in front of him again, taking it all in for the second time.

It was no good.

It was over. He felt a mad grin overtake his mouth, inspite of his internal misery. His mind was completely shutting down, in a mad desire to actually feel good for the first time in years. His subconscious knew he'd have to stop thinking and forget it all if he ever wanted to feel joy again.

He closed his eyes, and then shuddered violently, as if going through the throes of an orgasm.

Then, he stood up, casting the paper and pen to the ground.

The insanity of the grin was beginning to spread to all corners of his body. He felt...happy again.

He roughly stepped on the list he had just made. Symbolic of what he was doing mentally.

All that mattered now was what he had.

He'd never feel sad again about what he lacked. After all, what could he ever do about that?

And then, interrupting his thoughts like an explosion of C4, someone knocked at the door violently. Three more knocks followed, bringing Matt back to Earth.

"Time to goooo!" Came the cry from the other side of the door.

_I've got a pair of Gohills boots...and I've got fading roots..._


End file.
